


Fevered Dreams

by HeroMaggie



Series: Dreams [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: And Other Shenanigans, Anders in a corset, Anders with Tattoos, Anders with piercings, Corset smut, Cracky AU, Discussion of Rape, Discussion of Torture, Dreams involving slave Anders, Fade Fingers are going where?, Fenders, Fenris drinks slaver juice, Fenris is a softy under the spikey armor, Hawke finds the entire situation embarrassing, M/M, Merrill is so Merrill, Romance, Smut, blatant disregard for canon, more smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-15 06:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 36,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3436115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeroMaggie/pseuds/HeroMaggie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had all started in the Blooming Rose...</p><p>One job hunting slavers, one bottle of unidentifiable slaver juice, and a hallucination that includes Anders in a corset leads Fenris to rethink his views on mages...</p><p>Or at least one mage...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ywain Penbrydd (penbrydd)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penbrydd/gifts).



> No I do not wish to discuss how Anders ended up in a corset. 
> 
> No I do not know why we have to start with so much brooding.
> 
> I will tell you this went from "Let's write a crackfic" to "Let's write a fully realized romance story" and yes I am screaming just a tiny bit on the inside.

It had all started in the Blooming Rose - of course it had started in the Blooming Rose. Because a lot of jobs involving Hawke started either in the Blooming Rose or the sewers – never in, say, a tavern by the docks or a bakery or some other pleasant location. They always started someplace unpleasant and led to him either stepping in something slimy or trying to keep something slimy from touching him.

For a lot of people, the Blooming Rose was a pleasant location. Some wine or brandy, some conversation, some personal time with one of the workers – it was stress relief. A break from the routine grind of life. For Fenris, being at the brothel wasn't a break from anything. He didn’t find the atmosphere relaxing and he wasn't there to sample the Antivan wine or find companionship. He was there because Hawke was on the prowl for the head of an intricate slaver network, and she had been tipped that the lead slaver liked to partake of the offerings at the Rose.

And seeing as how Fenris was never opposed to aiding Hawke when she was tracking down slavers, especially if tracking down equaled killing them, he was there with her.

They had taken a table near the back of the bottom floor, Fenris gracefully sliding into the chair closest the wall. No sense in not seeing the entire room, especially if the slaver happened to be IN the room. The mage, and Fenris really wished Hawke would just learn how to heal herself so they could leave him in his dank clinic, sat fidgeting to his left. Isabela was sprawled obnoxiously to his right, her eyes fixed quite solidly on Hawke's ass.

Hawke was busy trying to sweet talk Madam Lusine into parting with the information they needed. Fenris knew the sweet talk was all for show – Hawke would barter and wheedle and Lusine would hem and haw and finally turn over the information because really, Hawke was the Champion of Kirkwall. And if the Champion of Kirkwall needed information, the Champion of Kirkwall got information.

He had asked Hawke once, a few weeks ago, why she even still bothered to chase down slavers and bandits and the like and her response had been, “I have a reputation, Fenris. Gotta keep the public happy.”

Fenris had thought about it and finally decided he didn't really care why Hawke kept tracking down slavers and the like; he just hoped that she kept inviting him along to partake in the killing portion of the evening. Nothing soothed his soul more than hearing the death gurgles from a bunch of slavers. In fact, the only thing that would make him actually happier than killing room after room of slavers was killing his former master, Danarius.

So he was partially content to sit in the Blooming Rose, a mug of ale at his hand, and watch Hawke sweet talk the Madam into giving up her secrets. He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head in time to see a rather disheveled and drunk patron approach Isabela.

“Looking for company, pretty lady?” Fenris was impressed that the man could form full words, what with the smell of pure alcohol coming off of him. “I have a room upstairs.”

“Sod off,” Isabela said absentmindedly, not even bothering to look at the man.

“Awww...come on. You can bring your pretty companions with you.” The man leered a bit at the mage and then at him. Anders scooted back in his seat and frowned.

“I don't work here. Shoo.” Anders waved his hands at the man.

“Never...never said you did, my good man.” The drunk didn't know when to quit. “What about the knife-ear?”

Fenris had heard about enough. His brands lit and he reached out, grabbing in the approximate location of the man's genitals. “Leave or I shall remove your sad excuse for a manhood.”

The man paled, spun around, and staggered off at a pace a little too fast for his drunken feet. They watched him lose his balance and end up in a woman's lap. The woman, thankfully, didn't seem to mind.

“That was unnecessary,” Isabela huffed, glancing at Fenris.

“Bah, waste of time,” Fenris muttered.

Anders cleared his throat and took a tiny sip of ale, “If Hawke doesn't hurry up I'm leaving. I have things to do you know.”

“So take yourself off then. We do not need you.” Fenris fairly growled at Anders.

“I was only saying that I have other work besides chasing down every two-bit bad guy in this pit of a city, that's all.” Anders sniffed.

“And I was only saying that you are unnecessary, Mage.” Fenris grouched back, his ears flicking in annoyance. “Why you persist in whining is beyond me. Either wait patiently or leave.”

“Boys, boys. No need to bicker. If you continue this I'll have to get you two a room,” Isabela turned amused eyes on both of them. “You both could use a little alone time I think. All this tension. Fairly makes me shiver.” She gave a dramatic shudder at the thought.

Anders and Fenris both growled at her and then exchanged glares.

“What's going on?” Hawke had made it back to them, her eyes taking in the glares and Isabela's innocent smile. “Izzy, my love, have you been creating havoc again?”

“Me? Never.” Isabela said on a laugh, standing and wrapping her arms around Hawke. “Find out what you needed to, Sweet Thing?”

“Don't I always?” She waggled her eyebrows at Isabela, slapping her ass. Fenris and Anders both groaned, this time sharing twin looks of embarrassment.

“Can we go? I've been proposition twice tonight.” Anders stood, stretching.

Fenris rolled his eyes, “Did the Madam know this slaver's name?”

“Yeah, she did. It's Lucretia. Do you think her parents hated her?” Hawke offered Fenris a grin.

Fenris stilled and sighed, “Mayhap. It is a common enough name in the Imperium, however. With my luck, she is some Magister’s apprentice.”

“Well then, let's not keep her waiting? Hmm? She has a house in Hightown. I bet it's filled with pretty little things too. Why don't we go divest her of her life and her trinkets?” Hawke led her group out of the Brothel.

Isabela let out a husky laugh, “You always have the best ideas.”

“I know!” Hawke said on a giggle. Anders and Fenris shared another look. This time it was one of commiseration.

***

  
The slaver's house was more of a mansion – a very nice one. It was decorated in the Tevinter fashion – and that had made Fenris all the more likely to kill each slaver in as messy a fashion as possible. Every room he went into was left coated in gore. If a room lacked occupants, he simply ripped the decorations to shreds. It was cathartic, like drinking all the wine in his stolen mansion or poking at Anders until he lost his temper.

Lucretia proved to be the icing on the proverbial cake. She was Tevinter and a mage and in the house AND Fenris was allowed to kill her. It was as if somebody had hand-wrapped a natal day gift and left it on his front doorstep.

He ripped through her guards as if they were paper, flinging their bodies away as he moved towards Lucretia with a single-minded intensity. His companions, he noted, where finishing off the crowd and herding the Tevinter mage back into a corner. That made him smile. Maybe it was his Natal Day!

Crowding Lucretia against the wall, he watched with satisfaction as she paled. Grabbing her throat, Fenris shoved her hard against the wall, watching her scrabble at his arms and chest in an effort to get him to let go. “What magister do you work for?” he growled, punctuating the question with another hard slam. “Do they even care that we are going to kill you?

She gripped his wrist with her small hands, her mahogany eyes flashing with fear. “You may kill me, Little Wolf, but your Master will find you eventually. You are known. Oh yes. We have been watching you for a while now. It won't be long till Danarius comes to collect his precious pet.”

“You lie!” He roared, slamming her back against the wall hard enough to make her skull crack.

She laughed, a wet sound, “You may think you are free, but you are nothing. Nothing but a dog without his master. And I assure you, your master will find you. And when he does...” she didn't get to finish her sentence. Fenris activated his brands and thrust his other hand into her chest, squeezing her heart till it burst.

Her body fell limp and he simply dropped her, “Always the same. They play their games and make their threats. I am nobody’s dog.” His voice was choked and raw.

“Fenris,” Hawke moved to him, her hand outstretched. “If you need...”

“What I need is to be rid of this place.” He shrugged off her concern, his heart beating too fast. Her words, that mage's words, were reverberating through him, making his stomach clench.

“You know we'll stand with you,” Hawke said as he strode to the door. “Fenris. You aren't alone in this.”

He clenched the door frame so hard that he could hear the wood creak, “Mages always promise things; promises they do not keep.”

“You don't mean that,” Anders' voice was sharp. “Or do you count Hawke the same as a slaver?”

“A mage is a mage,” Fenris ground out. “Or abomination, in your case.” He didn't give Anders a chance to respond, simply turned and left. And if he took a detour through the kitchen to grab some bottles of wine he had seen sitting out well, who was there to notice?

***

  
For once the wine wasn’t doing its job. Fenris was drunk, but still miserable. Usually, the wine made the miserable fade away into a cloud of blessed numbness. He took another deep drink, let out a groan, and threw the bottle at the wall. It shattered, splashing red and deepening the stain that was already there. It wasn’t enough, not enough to banish the words spoken. Not the words spoken by that Lucretia, no. The words he had said to Hawke and…and to the Abomination. Words he had brandished like weapons.

He cast his eyes around the room, finally noticing the bottles he had picked up at the slavers’ mansion. There were two of them, deep brown glass with a dark liquid. The bottle was wine-bottle shaped and the liquid the right color for wine. He squinted at the labels but didn’t recognize the words. His reading lessons with Hawke were sporadic at best now – her reputation having grown so large that she was kept busy answering messages and trying to keep one step ahead of the entire “no Viscount” mess.

He pulled a cork out with his teeth and sniffed. His sinuses were, admittedly, on fire. Probably due to all that poisoned gas he had inhaled – he had set off a couple of traps in his haste to destroy the mansion. He gave a cough, ignoring the phlegmy quality of it, and took a deep swig.

Whatever was in the bottle burned its way down his throat and warmed his stomach. He blinked and took another deep gulp, liking the way the room wavered a bit. Whatever this liquor was, he was more than happy to drink it all – especially if it did the job better than the wine. The more he drank, the more the room grew fuzzy and his brain fogged.

He didn’t feel so bad about what he had said now. In fact, he thought, he hadn’t gone far enough. Hawke…Hawke was not the problem. No, she had proven herself time and again. But the Abomination – he was a curse upon the city. Fenris could see him. Sitting in his clinic and writing his manifesto to incite a change that would lead to nothing but ruin. He was sure that even the healing of the poor was just a ruse. Yes, just a ruse to hide what he really was. Grasping and power-mad. A possessed mage. A curse.

Fenris stood suddenly, wobbling on his feet. He needed to go down and confront the abomination. He needed to get it all out. Obviously, that was the only way he would ever find peace. He gripped the bottle tightly in his gauntlet-covered fist, grabbed his sword, and stalked unsteadily from his room to go find the mage who seemed to be tormenting him the most.

***

  
The mage in question was sprawled over one of the tables in his clinic. Soft snores issued from him periodically, his breath lightly disturbing the papers cushioning his face. His fingers twitched as he slept, wisps of power curling and fading away as he dreamed.

The sound of his door exploding caused him to jerk awake, sitting up and brushing frantically at his face to remove the paper stuck to his cheek. It was the templars, he thought in a blind panic. They had found him. This was it. He reached for the staff he had propped next to him and stood, spinning to confront the intrusion, and came face-to-face with a swaying Fenris. That brought him up short.

“Fenris?” Exhaustion and confusion colored Anders’ voice.

“You…you…” Fenris waved a finger at Anders, “Abomination.” He gave a triumphant smile.

“Yes?” Anders crinkled up his nose. “Whatever are you drinking?”

“Weak…possessed…fool of a mage,” spat Fenris

“Thank you. Did you come all this way to drunkenly insult me? You could have waited till tomorrow evening at the Hanged Man. Not destroy my door and wake me up.” Anders reached for the bottle and found himself shoved back.

“You are half the man Hawke is,” Fenris added. He took a deep drink and squinted at Anders. “Both of you are.”

“I’m quite sure you’re right, yes,” Anders sighed, hoping to get Fenris to leave before violence happened.

Fenris opened his mouth to continue, words at the ready, gave a grunt, and tipped forward. Anders had just enough time to catch him before Fenris’ head met the dirt floor. Looking down at the rather heavy elf, Anders sighed. Fenris took the opportunity to start snoring. At least somebody was getting some sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Fenris wasn’t sure just where he was at the moment. It looked like his mansion – well, his stolen mansion. Fenris glanced around and shrugged. It looked cleaner than he remembered: no bodies on the floor and no mushrooms sprouting from the ruined wallpaper. It was something to ponder later, he finally decided, ascending the stairs to his room. For now he wanted to sit in his chair and enjoy a bottle of wine. Or maybe two.

He sank into the wing-backed chair in front of a cheerfully burning fire. Settling back, his toes wiggling happily as the fire warmed them, he let out a happy sigh and then blinked at the rug at his feet. He didn’t remember purchasing such a fine rug to grace his floor, but he was sincerely glad that he had opted to. Wine at the ready, feet warming, body lax, Fenris actually allowed himself to smile.

The sound of his door opening made him turn his head. It was probably Hawke, here to drag him off on some fool adventure. He was too comfortable to even kill slavers. For once, she would have to drag somebody else along with her. No, Fenris wasn’t leaving his chair this evening. He liked this chair.

To his surprise, it wasn’t Hawke that entered his room. Instead of her cheerful visage, Fenris saw Anders standing there. Fenris blinked and then blinked again. No, it was still Anders, blond hair unbound and brushing against those high cheekbones and teasing around his chin.

“Why are you here, Mage?” Fenris’ grumbled. “I am too relaxed to deal with your particular brand of idiocy right now.”

Anders said nothing, moving over to stand in front of the fire. Fenris was aware of a pleasant smell, something herbal, filling the room. It seemed to be following Anders as he moved and Fenris was left trying to place that particular scent. But that conundrum fell by the wayside when he got a clearer look at the mage.

There was a lot of pale, freckled skin on view, and it was all cinched into a wine red corseted top with a high collar that curved up and around Anders’ neck. Buckles accented the shoulder straps that smoothed into a boned waist held closed by brass clasps shaped like tiny dragon heads. A long sweep of black silk ran from under the hem of the corset to the floor – a flair of fabric that shimmered and swung open with each movement to reveal silken stockings and sheer lacy smalls.

For all that the outfit made Fenris’ brain stutter, it was the simple sight of the slender gold collar around Anders’ neck, a collar that looked suspiciously like one worn by body slaves, that made him nearly stop breathing.

“You called me, Domine?” Anders slid to his knees in front of Fenris, head bowed.

Fenris tried his hardest to not climb over the back of the chair to escape. He held himself still, hands clenching at the armrests, and tried to breathe. “I…I did not.”

Anders kept his head down, his neck a graceful arch that showed the small lock nestled at the center of the collar. Fenris lifted his hand and blinked at the tinkle and shimmer of light around his wrist – a small bracelet holding a single, tiny key.

A tiny key that fit into that collar.

Anders was looking up at him now, a slight tilt of the head that had his eyes trained somewhere on Fenris’ chin. “What can I do to ease your strain?”

Seeing Anders on his knees, head bowed forward, body dressed to entice and please... it made something in Fenris twist. Made something dark rear up, a sudden spurt of desire that left him weak. Anders gracefully moved closer and pressed his cheek to Fenris’ knee. “Domine,” he murmured. “Let me ease you.”

The words were accompanied by deft fingers reaching for the laces on Fenris’ leggings. Anders' cheek rubbed against his knee, a nearly feline gesture. Those long fingers brushed over the laces and Fenris froze, fighting the feverish want pulsing through him. No, this was wrong, the thought a last ditch effort to not take what was being offered.

But then his laces were loosened and those long fingers were drawing out his length to tease and pleasure.

***

  
“You mustn’t,” Fenris moaned. Anders glanced over at the elf moving fretfully on the cot. He had knocked his blanket off and was tugging at his leggings, hands plucking at laces covering an impressive erection.

“Anders…it’s not right…” That next moaned sentence had Anders straightening and glancing around. The clinic was still empty – not unusual this late into the night. He glanced back at the fretting, unconscious elf and figured he was hearing things.

“Feels so good…” Maker, the elf could really moan. Alright, not hearing things.

Anders picked up the bottle and sniffed it. He had some suspicions on what this concoction was. Turning the bottle he saw a label with cramped handwriting. It looked like Tevene. He squinted and bit his lip in mortification and amusement.

“Ardore.”

Anders tilted the bottle, gathered a drop of the liquid on his finger, and touched it briefly to his tongue. The sudden rush of warmth on his tongue and down his throat confirmed it. This was probably a potion added to a slave’s food to make them more...willing. Complacent.

Justice's influence filtered through Anders' thoughts, feelings of disgust, of horror, of rage. An Injustice, to be sure, and one visited upon the elf unintentionally, if Anders could guess. Fenris had probably picked up the bottle thinking it was simply wine. He had probably gone home and started drinking, finally breaking into the bottle only after he had become thoroughly inebriated.

Anders raised the bottle. Half was gone. Not good. He glanced at Fenris and noted the sweat forming at the elf's brow. He had two options, wait it out or purge it. Fenris gave a low groan and Anders sighed.

Purging it was.

***

  
Fenris slowly became aware that his head was throbbing, his tongue was numb, his throat hurt, and he was naked and tucked into a bed. Not his bed, it wasn't comfortable enough – but a bed. He turned his head, blood-shot eyes peering into the gloom of the room. Sitting next to him, legs stretched out and feet crossed, was the mage. His skin was waxy, dark circles under his eyes, and he slept fretfully. Fenris blinked and tried to remember how he had ended up in the clinic.

His groan when the pain in his head spiked made the mage wake. Amber eyes fluttered before focusing on him. “Mm...are you going to be sick again? Let me get the bucket.”

“Mage,” Fenris croaked. “Why am I here? And I why do I feel so...foul?”

Anders rubbed a hand over his face and stretched, wincing when his back muscles protested. “You came down in the middle of the night to inform me that I am half the man Hawke is. Both of me. And that I am a weak and useless fool.”

“I...do not remember that.” Fenris struggled to sit, growling slightly when Anders moved to help him. He felt weak, Maker take his body. Like a newborn kitten. He finally gave in and let Anders fuss a moment before scowling. “Am I in your bed? Naked?”

“I had to move you. You had vomited on every clean surface. As for your clothing, well. The purging resulted in some...unintentional messes. One of those messes included your leggings.” Anders didn't want to tell Fenris that part of that mess had been caused by him having a rather spectacular orgasm while moaning Anders' name And no, there was nothing in the world – not even kittens and the Knight-Commander’s head on a pike – that could induce him to share that tidbit.

“I was ill?” Fenris finally stopped scowling and looked chagrined. “You took care of me?”

“Relax. I didn't use magic on you. You just...had an unfortunate incident involving a bottle of slaver juice.” Anders turned to a small table and poured Fenris some water. “Luckily, you brought the bottle with you when you came down to berate me. I was able to figure out what had happened and purge it from your system. The old fashioned way. You vomited all night.”

“I...remember...” Anders stiffened as Fenris looked thoughtful, “A brown bottle?” Anders relaxed a bit and nodded.

“Yes. It held a potion designed to...ah...make slaves more...willing...” Anders squirmed and flushed. “Anyway, I fixed it.”

“More willing,” Fenris narrowed his eyes on Anders' back, “What are you not telling me?”

“Here, drink this water and I'll go get you a healing potion for that headache,” Anders babbled, thrusting the cup of water at Fenris.

“Mage...” Fenris warned, but Anders ignored him in favor of exiting his room at a fast clip. No way was he going to stick around and answer that question.

***

  
Fenris was left sitting in Anders’ bed, tucked under Anders’ covers, and wondering just what had happened the night before. Vague memories of drinking wine and then opening the brown bottle filtered through his brain. He remembered being angry – angry at himself and then at the mage. No doubt the anger stemmed from something that had happened earlier…a fight?

He saw his clothing hanging from the back of a sad-looking chair and lunged for it, grabbing and pulling on his leggings before Anders could return with the potion.

The mage was acting strange, though. Stranger than normal. Usually when Fenris found himself in the clinic, drunk and belligerent, Anders forced him to leave and then railed at him the next day. Today, he had blushed and fidgeted.

A vision of wine red fabric and pale skin flashed through Fenris’ mind. His groin tightened in response, a remembered feeling of lips and hands. Then it was gone and Fenris was left sweating and mortified.

“Here’s the potion,” Anders breezed into the cubby, coming to a halting stop when he caught sight of Fenris standing. “Ah…you should probably get more rest…”

“I am fine. I do not need be fussed over.” Fenris sat suddenly, hunching forward.

“You’re sweating. You’re obviously not fine,” Anders put the small vial down and bustled over, laying a hand on Fenris’ forehead.

The feeling of the mage’s fingers against his skin made everything tighten more, and Fenris grabbed at the hand and squeezed. “Do not touch me.”

“Back to this already?” Anders sighed and let his hand fall. “Well fine. I have patients to deal with anyway. If you won’t stay, go home and rest.”

Fenris simply growled and stood, yanking on his tunic. Anders stood there a minute more before turning to leave. Not wanting to examine his body’s strange urgings any further, Fenris finished dressing and stalked from the clinic.

He thought that perhaps there were a few more bottles of wine left to plunder back at the mansion.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Fenris and Anders attend Wicked Grace night
> 
> Anders has NO IDEA why Fenris is so cranky
> 
> Fenris just wishes he could stop having the strange mage-sex dreams

Wicked Grace night was such a firmly established part the weekly routine that nothing, up to and including the recent spate of awkward dreams, would keep Fenris home. Though his stomach did curdle just a tiny bit at the thought of going to the Hanged Man and seeing the mage. If he went, he’d be stuck staring at him. If he didn’t, chances were good Hawke would barge into his mansion to demand an excuse. And what could he say?

It had been just that morning that saw him staggering home from Anders’ clinic and falling into bed. Covers pulled over his head, he had tried to go back to sleep. And while sleep had been fast in coming, the dreams that had come with it had been…disturbing.

He had dreamed about lyrium-lined hands tangled in Anders’ hair. Head thrown back, hands pulling blond strands, cock buried in the mage’s throat, the dream had seemed so real. The orgasm that had woken him had definitely been real.

He had changed his pants, drank an entire bottle of wine, and had tried to go back to sleep.

Only to dream about Anders bent over the bed, body glistening with oil and wearing some damned tightly laced corset top. Fenris had jerked awake, groaned, and took himself to the bathing room for a cold soak. Which hadn’t helped. At all.

And as the day progressed, the dreams seemed to get worse. Every time Fenris had closed his eyes he had had visions of Anders' body twisted and displayed in erotic positions. And he wasn’t sure why. After knowing the mage for six years, hate wasn’t how Fenris would describe his feelings for Anders. But it wasn’t lust or affection either. More a resigned acceptance that bordered on annoyance on the best of days. He could only chalk all of this up to whatever he had drunk in that cursed bottle.

Fenris was tired, woozy, and strung-out from fighting down erections. He needed a drink. He needed to quit dreaming about Anders’ naked arse. This obviously meant he needed to attend Wicked Grace night. Otherwise he’d be trying to explain to Hawke how he couldn’t look at the abomination because he kept having weird mage-cock dreams.

***

 

Anders had had similar reservations about Wicked Grace night. Not because he had been having explicit dreams about Fenris. No, it was more because he had lived through the night of Moaning Fenris and now wasn’t sure how to talk to the elf, much less look at him. To be quite frank, Anders had always assumed Fenris hated him. Hearing his own name tumble from Fenris’ lips while the elf was writhing and rubbing at himself had been…surreal.

And as uncomfortable as the entire situation was, Anders knew better than to miss a Wicked Grace night. Going might mean seeing the elf, but not going meant a well-meaning visit from Hawke and uncomfortable questions best left alone. No, he’d put in his required time, sip at some cider, and then retreat to his clinic. With any luck, he could flee before the elf made an appearance.

So it was with great trepidation that Anders entered the Hanged Man, ordered himself his customary cider, and took himself up the stairs to Varric’s room. The usual people were already at the table – namely Hawke and Isabela, Varric, and Merrill, and Sebastian – always the odd man out at these events. Hawke and Isabela were already engaged in an impressive pretzel-snuggle position in one of the chairs, Hawke laughing as Varric told a story. Merrill was leaning forward with her head propped up, eyes wide and fixed on Varric’s waving hands. Sebastian was gazing into the bottom of his glass like the Maker was performing a peep-show dance in the ale – and if he was, Anders didn’t want to know about it.

“Evening,” Anders offered as he dropped himself into a chair.

“Blondie. Just in time. I was telling Hawke the craziest story.” Anders took a drink and offered Varric and company an inquisitive smile.

“Oh? About anybody I know?” Anders frowned into his cup. The cider had a decidedly musty taste to it that was off-putting.

“Heard from a reliable source that Broody was seen staggering into your clinic late last night and didn’t stagger back out till this morning. I didn’t realize you two were having quiet moments alone.” Varric waggled his eyebrows as Anders choked.

“He was sick,” Anders grabbed at his throat. “What, you have spies down there?”

“For your own good. How do you think the templars keep missing your clinic?” Varric tutted. “How sick did Broody have to be to show up at your place?”

“Mm…I did tell them they needed some sweaty time together,” Isabela purred. “Maybe they finally took my advice.”

“It was sweaty,” Anders said, watching Isabela’s eyes light up. “Because Fenris had a fever and was vomiting. Everywhere. He vomited everywhere. It was exactly what I needed, yes.”

The light died in Isabela’s eyes and she slumped against Hawke. “Poo.” She muttered.

Sebastian darted a glance at Anders just long enough to ask, “Is he alright?”

Anders was saved from answering by Fenris walking into the room, bottle in one hand and glass in another. He eyed the table and then slid into a chair near Merrill. Unfortunately, it put him across from Anders. “What are we speaking of?”

“Um,” Anders coughed, ‘You being in my clinic last night.”

“And how do they know that?” Fenris was glaring at Anders, watching as the mage turned about ten shades of red.

“Relax Broody, I have my sources. Blondie said you were sick. You alright?” Varric interjected in the great hopes of avoiding any violent outbursts.

Fenris grunted and sipped from his glass. The tips of his ears pinked as he looked at Anders. The vision of Anders on his knees asserted itself and Fenris took a deeper drink.

Anders, for his part, was desperately trying to change the subject, “So…find anything good in that mansion? I mean…you picked up a bunch of trinkets…”

“Mm, yes. Varric is going to sell them for me. Once the coin is in I’ll give your share. It was a good haul.” Hawke looked pleased. That woman was always pleased when she could make a little bit more coin. Anders could understand the compulsion. There would always be a small part of Hawke that believe that more coin could cushion her from the Gallows.

Anders played with his cup of cider as Varric and Hawke discussed coin and investments. He already knew what he would be doing with his portion – there were some special vials he had on order that he could pay for. Any money left over could be funneled back into his clinic.

Fenris clearing his throat made Anders’ glance up. The elf was looking at him, eyes glazed and ears flaming red. Anders bit his lip, blushed for no other reason than the look that Fenris was currently wearing was criminally sexy, and dropped his eyes back to his cider. Maker, what was he going to do about THAT problem?

Fenris had been dozing off in his seat, lack of sleep catching up to him. Unfortunately, dozing off had resulted in yet another heated dream and he had jerked awake at the table in time to see Anders’ amber eyes land on his face. Sitting across from the man who was currently starring in these feverish dreams was making the entire problem worse.

Fenris decided getting drunk was the way to solve the problem and took a deep gulp straight from the bottle.

“So…I have need of you two. All of you really, but I’ve spoken to everybody else already,” Hawke was saying. Both men turned slightly confused gazes to her and she smiled widely. “Merrill needs to see her clan. The last time we went out there we had to fight a Varterral, and I am not doing that again without my favorite warrior and healer.”

“Can’t Aveline go?” Fenris did not want to risk being stuck on the coast with the mage overnight, nevermind the entire idea of helping the blood witch.

“Nope. I spoke to her earlier actually. With the entire city up in arms over the Viscount seat being vacant, she’s swamped. I need you, Fenris.” Hawke gave him a mostly-apologetic look.

“I’m very busy…” Anders started, his thought process surprisingly similar to Fenris’. He didn’t want to spend a night out on the coast with the elf. Either of them, actually.

“Sorry, need a healer. Come on guys. Please? For me?” Hawke gave them both her wide-eyed puppy-dog look. Both men groaned and then glared at each other. The glares turned into uncomfortable fidgeting.

“Fine,” ground out Fenris.

“I suppose,” Anders sighed.

“It’ll be fun! Pack for camping. You know I don’t like to get up all bright and early.” Hawke gave them both a beaming smile. “Now, how about some Wicked Grace?”

Merrill offered both Anders and Fenris timid smiles, “Thank you for helping me. It’s just a quick trip to get help for the mirror…”

“Don’t…” gritted Fenris.

“Not listening,” added Anders desperately.

“Thank you all the same,” Merrill said, now looking slightly peeved.

“If it makes you feel better, we’re all going. Hawke wants to get out of Kirkwall for a night.” Varric was watching Fenris and Anders actively avoid each other’s gazes.

“I need another drink,” Anders said morosely. He stood, his chair nearly falling over, and hurried from the room.

Fenris waited a minute, swallowed the last of his bottle of booze, and stood as well. “I seem to be out of wine. I will return.” He slowly made his way from the room.

“I wonder what’s up with those two,” Merrill asked the room in general.

“Hard to say, Daisy. Hard to say,” Varric said as he tapped his chin.

***

  
“Abomination,” Fenris was waiting for Anders at the top of the stairs. Anders took one look at Fenris’ face, turned back around, and started back down the stairs. “Do not make me chase you.”

“Haha. Chasing. Funny. Still sick?” Anders tried for light, slowly turning back around and walking back up the stairs. He swallowed at the dark look on Fenris’ face. “Drink another bottle of slaver juice by accident? Need another round of purging?”

Fenris reached out and grabbed Anders’ coat, pulling him bodily into a nearby empty room. “What did you do to me?” Each word was punctuated by a firm shake.

“What? Nothing! I poured some potion down your gullet to make you vomit…but that’s it, I swear,” Anders held his hands up, one holding a cider that was sloshing dangerously close to the lip of the mug.

“You know something.” Fenris ground out, crowding him back against a back wall.

“Know something? About?” Anders’ back hit the wall and he reached out blindly, pressing a hand against Fenris’ chest. “I haven’t done anything.”

Fenris had stilled at the touch, his body rigid. The heat from the mage’s hand seeped through his chest piece and tunic to scald skin. Amber eyes were wide on his, the hand holding the cider shaking slightly. Snippets of dreams – or were they memories – flitted through Fenris’ brain. Anders on his knees, wine-red fabric, lips and tongue…heat roared over him and he staggered back. “You will not talk to me. You will not touch me. Do you understand?”

“Y..yes?” Anders sagged against the wall. He watched Fenris glare at him and then stalk from the room.

What, exactly, was that all about?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bathing adventures on the coast..

Hawke, Anders had decided, was a big liar. A liar who had good intentions – but still a liar.

Merrill hadn't wanted to go visit the Dalish camp for help with her mirror. She had wanted to go re-summon her demon to get help with her mirror. Those were two distinctly different events. One involved talking to a cranky Dalish woman – and really, Anders figured any Dalish female was pretty much cracked. The other involved summoning an actual demon from the Fade and making a pact with it for aid.

The first would net you a headache and perhaps the urge to punch trees and rip up flowers. Of course, sometimes dealing with female Dalish resulted in actual tree punching – because the trees were attacking you. Ander still had scars from his time spent with the Wardens, scars and nightmares of stomping trees and a screaming Dalish woman.

The second could very well turn you into an abomination. And Anders was doing fine with just one Fade Spirit, thank you very much.

The entire afternoon had been a disaster – Keeper Marethari's death at Merrill's hand and the Clan's nearly violent response had been enough to make Anders keep quiet and out of everybody's way. Not only had Sebastian preached, albeit quietly, about the horrors of demons while they had set up camp, but Fenris had glared holes at Anders at every opportunity.

On top of that, Justice had decided to assert himself, and the internal monologue on the evils of demons and how the entire incident had been an Injustice was nerve-wracking. Most days, Justice and Anders were an entwined being who shared thoughts and emotions, two souls working together to mend the injured and fight the oppressed. And some days they were two souls butting heads. Today was a head-butting day.

To add insult to injury, the weather was hot – mid-summer hot with nearly no breeze. They were all arranged around a sluggish camp fire, dinner in a pot, and watching as Merrill sobbed against Varric while Hawke and Isabela fussed over her. Sebastian sat with Fenris, eyes filled with a revolting mix of satisfaction and compassion. Fenris sat and stared fixedly at Anders.

Anders had spent exactly five minutes being glared at before deciding he would much rather go bathe than have his skin flayed from his body for reasons he didn't even know. Whatever was eating Fenris could have him. It had been a long day and Anders, frankly, had had enough drama.

Standing and stretching, he rummaged in his pack for a clean pair of pants and a towel and then addressed the group, “I am going to go bathe. Don't run off without me.”

Merrill simply wailed softly. Hawke nodded and waved her hand, “We'll be here. She'll be fine in a bit.”

Anders gave Varric a look, nodded, and left before anybody could say they'd join him. He wanted some alone time.

***

  
Fenris watched the mage wander off and was both grateful that Anders had decided to go bathe, thereby removing himself and his presence from the camp, and concerned that the abomination was going off by himself. The concern was worrisome. Fenris wasn't concerned that Anders would murder small animals or go insane. No, some small part of him was remembering the look of sad horror on the mage's face as Marethari revealed her possession.

It was as if a hard truth had been revealed, and perhaps one had.

It sat uncomfortably in Fenris' stomach, the concern. It wrapped itself around the unwanted lust and solidified into a ball of roiling emotion. His companions didn't notice his internal drama, Fenris' face a smooth mask of disdain, but he was slowly falling apart trying to decide if he should stay and mock the witch or go and mock the abomination...certainly it would be mocking, not fussing or worry.

Fenris came to his feet slowly. “A bath sounds good to me as well. I shall return shortly.”

Isabela looked like she wanted to say something but kept her mouth blessedly closed. Hawke simply nodded as Merrill gave another sad wail. Sebastian looked as if he might follow, and for a moment Fenris worried that he would be unable to talk to Anders alone. But Sebastian simply shifted closer to Merrill, his face filled with resignation as he helped to offer comfort.

Fenris didn't want to examine why he wanted to be alone with the mage. He simply grabbed his things and stalked off, following the trail taken by Anders. It wasn't concern, he told himself as he navigated the weeds and rocks, it wasn't. He had no desire to understand what the mage was going through, no desire to offer comfort. He just wanted the dreams to end.

The spring-fed pool of water used for bathing wasn't far from camp and well insulated by a few trees and bushes. Like everything else on the Wounded Coast, the foliage was windswept and scraggly, but it still provided a sense of privacy. Anders was already there, his clothing on one of the boulders that dotted the edge of the small pool. He was busy untying his hair, his back to the path, when Fenris found him.

The sight of the naked mage standing in the moonlight made Fenris come to a stop. Bracketed by foliage, the elf slid more into the shadows, his eyes trailing down skin he had only seen in his dreams. Unlike the dreams, Anders' back was not a smooth line of pale, freckled skin. The moonlight glinted off old scars, some irregular and obviously from battle, others thin lines. The lines traveled from shoulder blades to the gentle curve of hips, expertly placed and overlapping – as if one round with the cane hadn't been enough, as if the cane had been applied repeatedly and in such a fashion that each new strike would reopen old wounds. The scars shown silver in the moonlight and something deep inside of Fenris grew cold just looking at them.

He had seen slaves with worse, yes. But Anders had not been a slave.

His eyes finally moved down from the scars and he blinked, nearly leaving the shadows as he tried to fully make out what he was seeing on Anders' right ass cheek. It was a tattoo, and from here it looked feline. The cat was curled up, the tail snaking around the body to flirt with the crease of his ass. Fenris tilted his head, mild amusement flitting over his face. The mage had a cat tattooed on his ass. It was, somehow, too appropriate.

Anders turned, his body a long, lean line of flexing muscles as he stretched out kinks gained from twirling his staff and dodging attacks. He turned a bit more to fuss with his towel before stepping into the pool of water. The turn flashed another tattoo, one down low on his hip. Something large and ornate. Fenris hadn't been close enough to see it, just that it seemed to edge from the bone down towards the mage's groin.

“I can see you in the bushes, Fenris,” Anders' voice traveled to him as the mage sank into the water. “The moonlight catches your tattoos. It's really rather lovely.”

Fenris gave a deep sigh and slowly stepped into the small clearing. “I wished to give you privacy.”

Now that he was there in the clearing with Anders, Fenris found it hard to think of anything to say. He settled on staring, hoping to find words to express his frustration, his curiosity...his desire to return to how things had been before the slaver's mansion, before the night spent sick in Anders' clinic, before the dreams.

“Are you going to bathe or just stare at me?” Anders slid down a little more into the water, his eyes wary. “Or are you here to jab at me about being an abomination? This would be the perfect time to remind me of how very stupid and weak I am, how I will eventually end up as...that.” Sharp, the words were glass-shards of self-hate and fear.

“I am simply here to bathe,” Fenris kept his voice level. “Not rub your nose in anything.” He turned then, unbuckling armor and removing clothing. “Can you turn around?”

Anders gave a huff, splashing to let Fenris know that he was facing away from the elf. Giving a sigh of relief, Fenris eased himself into the water. It would have been mortifying if Anders had noticed his arousal. The water was still sun-warmed, soft against his skin, soothing after the long day of walking and fighting. Giving another pleased sigh, he allowed himself to float.

Anders had moved across the small pool, probably to give Fenris space. The mage scrubbed at himself, his eyes everywhere but on Fenris.

“I make you uncomfortable,” it was a statement more than a question.

“What? Of course you make me bloody uncomfortable. You've threatened my life on multiple occasions. You've told me, in no uncertain terms, that you hate me.” Anders voice was bitter.

Fenris watched the mage very nearly sulk as he cleaned himself. His words weren't wrong, though perhaps those sentiments didn't quite apply anymore. Not with all this emotion coiling down in Fenris' belly. He said nothing, though. Not yet. Still content to float and watch the mage.

He needed to eat more, thought Fenris. He could very nearly count Anders' ribs from across the pool of water. His chest had scars, old ones. Another tattoo curled over his left breast, nearly ruined by a spectacular scar just over the mage's heart. Fenris wasn't sure how Anders was alive. That scar bore testament to a killing blow. The tattoo curled gracefully under it, two words that seemed to cradle the scar and Anders' heart.

But what really caught his eye, what made his cock tighten painfully and heat to suddenly shoot through his body, was the sight of moonlight glinting off of two small rings on Anders' chest. The nipple piercings ignited something feral in Fenris. Suddenly, the water was no longer soothing.

Growling, he moved lightning fast across the pond. Anders had exactly one second to squeak in terror before Fenris was there, pressing him bodily against a rock, lyrium-lined arms a cage on either side of the mage. Anders' hands came up and then stopped a centimeter away from pressing against Fenris' skin. “Whaa?”

Fenris leaned forward, face pressed close to Anders', and tried desperately to find a shred of control. This close, he could see the shades of brown and gold splintered in the mage's eyes, could smell the herb-scented soap, could see the fine lines at the crease of eyes and mouth, the freckles that traveled over cheeks and nose. Could see the lips that taunted him every time he closed his eyes.

Perhaps if Anders had remained still, had not moved or even breathed, Fenris would have pulled back. But the choked gasp snapped that last thread of control. The kiss was all teeth and lips and probing tongue, hands tangling in blond hair, lips bitten and sucked until Anders went limp and Fenris was on fire.

The brush of mage hands over his skin brought Fenris out of the frenzy and he drew back, slowly at first – confused and then alarmed at what he had done. Anders, for his part, was more dazed than anything. Pressed back against the rock, he blinked at Fenris, unsure of what to do. On the one hand, this was Fenris – the elf who seemed to want him dead. On the other hand, the kiss had been spectacular and it had been a long time – a very long time – and Anders was loathed to let any tidbit of affection float away.

Finally, Fenris let him go and moved away. He didn't speak, though his eyes were filled with enough emotion to let Anders know that perhaps now was not the time to delve into the why. Anders licked his lips, still tasting elf and lyrium – wine and violence and the cold touch of the Fade. Justice moved sluggishly in his mind. If the Fade spirit had been a separate being, chances were good he'd be swooning like some maiden damsel. The thought made Anders' lips twitch in a small smile.

Which Fenris saw, those lips tilting up into a teasing little grin that made his blood sing.

He stared at the mage and then turned, pulling himself out of the pool of water and quickly drying off and dressing. He couldn't...couldn't...stay. Wouldn't explain himself. Instead, he gave Anders a flat look and stalked back to camp.

Anders was left in the pool alone with his confusion and arousal.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris confronts Anders in his clinic...
> 
> And Hawke has terrible timing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major thanks to Penbrydd for helping me with Merrill's lines. My brain was too befuddled by smut to write coherently.

It had been a week. A week since the kiss out on the Wounded Coast. A week of avoiding the mage, of avoiding Hawke, and just generally – avoiding. The avoiding wasn't working.

Just this morning Isabela and Hawke had broken into the mansion – a feat considering he had barricaded the doors – to threaten him. They didn't think it was a threat. They had shown up worried and carrying baskets of food. They had found him in slouched in his chair, drunk, and throwing bits of glass into a too-hot fire. Skin sallow, clothing sweat-stained, hair lank – the women had taken one look at Fenris and freaked out.

He was given a choice: clean himself up and go get looked by the mage or they would drag him down there. There were threats of bathing his person and laundering his clothes as well. In the face of their combined yelling, he agreed to clean himself up and go see the mage. And he had meant it. Hawke had looked at him with those big blue eyes of hers and he had just crumpled.

A week without sleep would do that to anybody.

The fact was, no matter how long he stayed up, no matter how much he drank, he dreamed. Dreams of Anders tied to his bed by a slave collar, on his knees looking at him with adoration, groveling, begging, crying out his name in pleasure. And always, always in the dreams, the quicksilver taste of the mage on his tongue. The dreams kept coming and he didn't know how much more he could take.

It was bad enough that his dreams were infested by a mage – a mage who tempted him. But for it to be THAT mage, the one he had been calling abomination since the day they had met, well. It was baffling. It was perplexing. It was troubling.

The final straw had come just that morning – mere minutes before the meddlesome duo broke in. He had dozed off in his chair only to dream of Anders on his knees, dressed only in the briefest of smalls. His head had been bowed, his hands up as if in supplication, and he had been offering a rod to Fenris. Fenris had watched in horror as his hand reached out for the rod. Anders had shuffled around on his knees till he was presenting his back to the elf – his scarred and bloody back.

Fenris had jerked awake, his heart galloping in his chest and sweat pouring down his face.

He had to know why he was dreaming like this. What possible reason could there be for them? The prurient and the horror filled dreams had to have a reason. If anything, he had to confront Anders and get some answers.

***

  
Fenris stepped through the battered doorway and into a mess. That was the only way to describe the clinic. Cots had been overturned and potions smashed. Every corner bore some mark of violence and it made his heart clench in fear.

The mage was not there, though. And there were no signs of a fight. No blood, no hair, no scorch marks. Just a mess.

The sound of leather shushing over the packed dirt floor had him turning, his markings flaring. Anders stood in the doorway. His gaze skipped over Fenris for a moment before settling back on him with wide-eyed fear. “Are they gone?”

“Who?” Fenris watched Anders slowly move into his clinic.

“The templars. Bloody bastards were fast. Varric’s little stooge gave me just enough time to hightail it to Hawke’s basement before I heard the clanking. I guess they were hoping to surprise me. Sadly, all they found were some healing potions and bandages.” Anders voice was even, emotionless. “I hid the lyrium ones; too bad for them.”

Fenris moved before his brain could catch up with his feet. Hands grasping feather-covered shoulders, he maneuvered Anders over to a cot that had survived the violence. “Are you injured?”

“Mm?” Anders was looking up at Fenris in surprise. “Me? No.”

With his face angled up and hair mussed and coming out of its tie, Anders was nearly a picture from one of the dreams. It made something tense and coil low in Fenris’ gut, a pulse of heat that made his leggings become uncomfortably tight.

“Why are you here?” Anders’ voice drifted up to him. “Fenris?”

“I…I have been unwell,” Fenris said finally, his ears twitching in embarrassment. “Since that night at the slavers.”

“Unwell? Why didn’t you say anything? And we dragged you out to the Wounded Coast? It’s so like you to ignore your own health because of how you feel about magic,” Anders’ voice was tinged with bitterness. “You’d rather be in pain than come to me for aid.”

Fenris stopped the fall of words by placing one finger against Anders’ lips. He contemplated the mage, his finger stroking the sensitive skin as he thought of how best to respond.

“It is not a physical illness,” Fenris finally said, finger still lightly petting Anders. “It is more complex than a simple physical problem.”

Anders took a breath to ask a question and Fenris shook his head, pressing his finger harder against him. “If I tell you, you must promise to not share my problems with the group.”

“I promise,” Anders said, lips brushing over the pad of the elf’s finger. Fenris shuddered at the sensation, at the memory of those lips on his.

Gathering his thoughts and trying to gain control of his fraying resolve, Fenris let out a sigh. “I have been dreaming. Of you. Frequently. The dreams are…vivid and explicit. You are always…” He tried a calming breath.

Understanding dawned in Anders’ eyes and was followed by a blush creeping up his neck. Fenris watched the red tinge pale cheeks, the color blossoming and spreading to ears and forehead. For some reason, that blush made everything worse. Fenris moved his finger from Anders’ lips, flexed his hands, and then started removing his gauntlets.

“Ahh…explicit…dreams. Of me? But you…and me…” Anders watched as Fenris placed one gauntlet on the floor and started working on the other. “And you don’t really…I mean. Me?”

“You wear a collar and play as my body slave,” Fenris watched the red turn a deeper crimson, Anders’ eyes widening and breath halting till Fenris worried the mage would pass out. “You look very comely in a collar, Anders.”

And where, Fenris wondered, had those words come from. He had meant to come down and berate the mage. A little yelling, perhaps some threatening – it would have soothed him. Instead he found a ruined clinic and fear. Seeing Anders so vulnerable, manhandling him into sitting, quieting the mage with a press of one finger…berating didn’t seem appropriate anymore.

The second gauntlet joined the first and Fenris stepped in close to Anders, his hands reaching for the tie holding up part of the mage’s blond hair. A single tug and hair swung down to shoulders, wisps brushing at the mage’s forehead and ears. Fenris dropped the tie and buried his hands in the soft strands, reveling in the smooth texture.

Anders was completely still, eyes nearly white they were so large. A single shiver ran through the mage, a delicate shudder that worked its way up Anders’ spine. Wrapping hair around his fingers, Fenris tugged lightly and watched with interest as Anders tilted his head back.

“I dream every time I close my eyes. And every dream is filled with you pleasuring me. It has been over a week since I have had a moments peace.” Fenris tugged harder on the hair and Anders let out a slight hiss. “No amount of touching resolves my arousal.”

“And what does that have to do with me?” Anders brought his hands up to press on Fenris’ chest. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Except invade my thoughts, hound my dreams, leave me feverish and wanting every second of the day and night.” Fenris tugged again on Anders hair, bending down to look into the mage’s eyes.

“I swear Fenris, I’ve done nothing. You drank a potion made by the slavers to make the slaves more willing. An aphrodisiac put in their wine or food to increase desire. I purged it from you. You shouldn’t be under any lasting effects. And even if you were, the potion doesn't make you desire me. It's...a general arousal. You would want anybody.” Anders pushed at Fenris, trying to get the elf to move.

“Why is your back scarred?” The change of topics left Anders blinking, mouth gaping. “I saw them while we were out on the Coast.”

“That’s…none of your business,” Anders said faintly.

“You dislike me.” The statement filled Fenris with dread. If the mage hated him, he would never be able to work out this…mess.

“You dislike me! For all that you claim to have sexy dreams of me.” Anders sighed and dropped his hands. “You’ve always hated me.”

“Maybe for a time. Before I got to know you,” Fenris admitted.

“Know me? KNOW me? You barely talk to me! You grunt and growl and insult me. And if that doesn’t work, you threaten me!” Anders’ voice had risen with each word. “You despise me!”

Fenris let out a growl of annoyance, a sound that had Anders making a face that clearly said “see…hate me.” He should just leave. Should just return home and…wank it out…get drunk. Go kill bandits for Aveline. Anything but stay here with the mage and the realization that he would never be free of the dreams.

Never be free of the want.

It was sheer desperation that had Fenris pushing Anders back on the cot, following him down, pressing over the mage till they were flush – only held apart by Fenris’ armor and Anders’ coat. He stared into shocked eyes and bit out, “I do not hate you,” a moment before crashing his lips with Anders’.

This time, when Anders’ hands came around him, he didn’t stop. Hair was tugged till the long line of Anders’ throat was exposed to teeth and lips that left a line of marks from chin to the top of that ridiculous coat. Lips and teeth that worried at the tender skin behind one ear, that nipped over a whiskered jawline, that took the mage’s lips in another bruising kiss.

This time, when he pulled back it was to unbuckle the straps of his breastplate, throwing the armor across the ruined clinic. It was soon joined by his tunic, leaving Fenris straddling Anders’ hips in just his leggings, nimble hands working at the buckles of the mage’s coat. “I taste you still on my lips. The taste joining with the dreams till I am hard and aching,” He pulled viciously at the buckles until the coat came undone.

“Not my fault,” Anders responded faintly, eyes taking in Fenris chest. This close, each swirl of lyrium was visible. Every line a stroke of silver painted over the elf’s body, etched into the skin. It was beautiful. It was heartrending. Anders was vaguely aware of his undershirt ripping, and he planned on making Fenris buy him a new shirt, but he was too enthralled with the lines, the dusky skin, the forgotten feeling of weight over his hips, pressing down over his slowly hardening cock.

Teeth met skin and Anders gasped, arched. Fenris bit a line from neck to mid-chest, pushing the ruined tatters of cloth and coat open until he could lick over one pierced nipple, teeth grasping and tugging on the small ring till Anders gibbered. The sight of those rings, the tattoo curling under the left breast, did something to Fenris. Something hot and shivery, made his blood sing and heat curl over his skin.

He bit his way down Anders, marking a line from collarbone to waist, tongue soothing over each mark. It was satisfying. Not as satisfying as seeing him collared and on his knees – but satisfying.

“Fenris…” Anders hands were hovering over his bare shoulders. “I don’t think…”

“You don’t think?” Fenris slid further down the mage's body, bent his head and nuzzled against the laces of Anders’ pants. “I could have told you that, mage.”

Anders huffed slightly and slowly lowered his hands to Fenris’ shoulders. “I don’t think we should…” Fingers dug into Fenris’ shoulders as he mouthed over the Anders’ erection. “Maker, I can’t believe I’m turning down sex,” muttered Anders.

“So you are saying no?” Fenris slid his lips over the cloth covered erection one more time.

Green eyes slid up to meet amber ones. Anders' hands clenched and then relaxed, fluttered over tattooed skin and then fell away. Breath was pushed out and Fenris slowly sat back, trailing clever fingers up trouser-covered thighs.

A quick inhale, amber eyes closing and then a small head shake, a smile quirking up lips, a shaky laugh and a muttered “It’s bad idea but…”

And the loud sound of Hawke calling Anders’ name in a frantic and feverish manner. “Anders! Oh sweet Maker we were too later! Anders!”

Both men turned their heads, identical looks of sheer terror and embarrassment on their faces as Hawke, Isabela, Merrill and Varric stumbled into the ruined clinic. Silence reigned as the group took in the mess and the half-naked men.

There was a snicker from Varric. A shocked inhale from Hawke. A titter from Isabela.

And Merrill, bless her soul, gaped and said loudly, “Wow Fenris, they really are all over your body, aren't they?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elf licking... 
> 
> Seeing what IS in Anders' pants...
> 
> Smut...

“So...” Hawke was obviously trying to forge ahead despite the fact that Fenris had clearly been about to rip off Anders' trousers and do _things_ to him. “So you're alright. But your clinic isn't...”

“I'd rather talk about how the delicious looking elf is sitting on the delicious looking mage's legs and licking him like a lollipop.” Isabela purred.

“Izzy...please.” Hawke said, desperation coloring her voice.

“Was he licking Anders like a lollipop? I missed it,” Merrill's voice had a decidedly sad twinge to it. “Fenris, could you do it again?”

Anders clenched his lips together, shaking slightly as he tried to hold in the laughter. His eyes met Fenris' and he swallowed the giggles. The elf was also shaking, but not from amusement. It was obvious that Fenris was embarrassed, but also still deeply aroused. Green eyes met his and he saw banked fires burning there. For him. It made the sudden spate of laughter dissipate in a flash of heat.

Anders could hear their friends chattering away in the background, but it was all an annoying buzzing sound. He was caught in Fenris' gaze, those green eyes burning through him. It had been a long time since anybody had looked at him with such a singled-minded intensity.

On the heels of that realization came the knowledge that Justice was strangely absent. Sitting in the back of his mind, Justice was crooning softly. The space that he considered Justice's was filled with one thought – how pleasing the elf sounded and tasted. Like home, Justice's voice murmured over and over. Home, home, home. Wistful, sad, longing murmurs. It was disconcerting on an entirely different level.

He finally realized the group was still there and turned his head, his eyes catching Hawke's, “Do you mind?”

“Do I? Oh...well no. But you can't stay here...” Hawke seemed nonplussed – a state of being not usually associated with Hawke. “You can come back to my home...”

Fenris' feral growl made Hawke quiet for a moment. “Or go to Fenris'. That seems to be what he wants. Is that what _you_ want Anders?”

Fenris' eyes were boring holes into him. He could say no, go to Hawkes, deal with some ribbing from Isabela and Varric and just...what? Not face this problem? Did he want to go with Hawke? Did he want to go with Fenris?

Fenris' fingers pressed into Anders’ hips, grinding slightly and making his cock jump. The feeling of those strong fingers pressed bruisingly hard against him was intoxicating. He could feel Fenris' arousal against his leg, thick and heavy. That made him swallow. If he went with Fenris, talking would have to wait.

That made Anders giddy.

“I'll...I'll go with Fenris.” Anders said slowly. Varric snorted in amusement.

“Are we all going to Fenris'? Because I thought we were going to pick up the mess...” Merrill chirped in confusion. Varric snorted again.

“Daisy, I think we're going to let the two lovebirds have some alone time. We'll come back and fix the door, Blondie. Don't let Broody eat you alive. Though it looks like he already started.” Varric gave them both a wide grin before turning to leave. “Oh, and don't you worry. I think I can improvise on what you all will be doing at Fenris' mansion.”

Anders groaned and went limp. Isabela chuckled huskily and followed Varric out. Hawke gave them another worried look before taking Merrill's arm and leaving. Anders glanced back up at Fenris, “So...ah...”

“I tore your shirt. Do you have another one to wear?” Fenris was slipping off of his legs. “I do not mind if you are not fully clothed.” The implied “you won't be wearing them for very long anyway” was left unsaid.

“I do. Have another shirt that is.” Anders babbled slightly. Fenris' hand smoothed up Anders' leg, sliding over his erection and squeezing. “I'll go get it...”

“Anders,” The sound of his name made him stop and look at Fenris. “You could have gone with Hawke. It would probably have been the wiser choice.”

“Nobody ever said I was wise,” Anders quipped, slipping from the cot and stretching out his back. Those cots weren't good for much besides treating wounds.

Fenris' was smiling this little smile at him, those lips that had just been sliding down his chest were quirked up in amusement. Anders swallowed at the look. Smiles looked good on Fenris, very good. “I'm waiting,” was all the elf said.

“Right...right.” Anders turned swiftly, making for his back room and his clothing – which he hoped were still there. Maker, what was he doing?

Obviously following Fenris back to his mansion to get shagged senselessly, his brain offered up. Justice threw out a small suggestion – lick the elf, sucking would be even better. That was his contribution to the entire situation. Anders gave a short laugh at that. Right...he was following Fenris back to his mansion so that he could lick and suck at the elf like he was a piece of Fade-candy.

***

  
It was surreal following Fenris home. Usually he didn't visit Fenris' mansion unless Hawke made him. This time, he was going there on his own. To have sex. With an elf that hated him. And really, he could not wrap his mind around that.

Fenris hated him. He did. From the first moment they had met and Fenris had found out about Justice, it had been apparent. There had never been any discussion. Any talk. Any chances given. From that first moment of meeting, Fenris had decided Anders wasn't worth knowing. And it had always grated.

Because Anders understood – to some extent – Fenris’ problems. He did. The solitude. The beatings. The nightmare of never knowing if what he said would result in punishment. The overwhelming desire to find freedom. The sheer terror that set in when he realized he was free but wasn't. The shackles were just more invisible now. Any moment of the day, he was at risk of being found and dragged back. And going back to the Circle...now...with Justice. Anders shuddered. Death would be considered too good for him. No, they would make him tranquil. Take away his mind, soul, and emotions. And then...then he would finally be the perfect slave for them: hawking Chantry wares or performing Chantry work mindlessly, forever.

He wished he could tell this all to Fenris. But the moment never seemed to come. Any time spent not killing slavers or bandits or blood mages was spent listening to Fenris spout off about the evils of magic. The only mage that seemed impervious to all of the elf's hatred was Hawke. But he was fair game.

So to be following a person who hated him so strongly...to his home...to most likely have sex. It was...surreal. There was no other way to describe it.

He followed Fenris into the mansion, ignoring the nearly mummified remains and odd mushrooms growing from the carpet. The trip up the stairs and to the one mostly-tidy room was short. He stood just inside the room unsure and a little nervous, eyes on Fenris.

Fenris was also a little unsure and nervous. He had Anders in his home. But it wasn't...exactly...it wasn't exactly the dream. He gave a shake and let his eyes drift down Anders' long form. The mage shifted under his gaze and Fenris decided that the clothing was part of the problem.

A few quick steps, a firm tug, and Anders was being propelled across the room and towards the bed. A shove ended the short trip, the mage tumbling backwards. Fenris followed, determined to get back to where they had been before the interruption.

This time, Anders unbuckled his own coat and shimmed out of it and his shirt. He only had two shirts and one of them lay in tatters on the clinic floor. Fenris watched, tugging off his breastplate and tunic. The minute the shirt was off, Fenris was covering him. The elf was all biting kisses and sliding hands that probed and rubbed, tugged and pinched till Anders was covered in small bites and bruises.

Panting, Fenris tugged at the laces on Anders' pants, nearly breaking them as he first knotted and then unknotted the string. A loud curse and the pants were finally undone and being shoved down with Anders' smalls. And then...silence. Pure stunned silence.

Anders lifted his head, looked down, and blushed. “Oh...right...”

“You have another tattoo and...you are pierced...there?” Fenris' fingers danced down the hard length of Anders' cock and tugged at the ring piercing his foreskin. “Truly?”

“Well you see...there was a Warden named Nathaniel...” Anders babbled. “And he would egg me on something terribly...”

“Into piercing your cock?” Fenris' voice was filled with disbelief. “Was he also the reason for all the tattoos?” Fenris' fingers smoothed over the blue and black griffon that covered the flank of one hip.

“It got me into his pants,” Anders said fondly. “Um...I'm also...um...”

Fenris was working Anders' pants down his legs and stopped to give him a look, eyebrow raised. “Yes?”

“Well. I have three more small rings down there. Just under my...um...they're just for show. I forget they're there. Haha. It's been a while since...oh Maker, why are you looking at me like that?” Anders squirmed.

Fenris shook his head. Silly mage. As if a few piercings would dissuade him. If anything, it added to the already accumulating heat, to the arousal beating in his blood. Feverish and wanting. He stood swiftly and tugged off his own leggings, kicking them aside.

Anders quit talking, his mouth gaping slightly as he took in the lyrium-accented lean muscled lines of Fenris' body. Justice was quiet, so quiet in his mind. A mere whimper of lyrium and home and then nothing but a pulse of want. He didn't think, just slid from the bed to kneel at Fenris' feet.

Lyrium-lined hands slid into blond hair, tugging back until Anders looked up at Fenris. The elf's eyes were feverishly bright.

“Open your mouth, Anders.” Gentle with a backing of steel. His mouth opened without thought. And then any chance of thought disappeared at the taste of elf and lyrium.

Eyes closed, hands clenched tightly in blond hair, Fenris gave a heartfelt groan at the feeling of lips and tongue, wet heat surrounding him. It took every last ounce of concentration to keep his thrusts slow, to not simply take. He wanted to savor it: the feeling of Anders' mouth, the swirl of talented tongue, the clench as the mage swallowed.

He couldn't last long. Not after a week of fevered dreaming. “Touch yourself,” Fenris' voice was harsh, the words torn from him as he thrust harder into the mages's willing mouth.

Amber eyes met green and there was a pulse of magic. Fenris looked down to see Anders summoning a palm of grease before wrapping his hand around his own length. A low groan of pleasure vibrated from Anders’ throat.

It was fast, the orgasm boiling up quickly, Fenris' lower back spasming with the force of his pleasure. Anders didn't even blink, didn't make a noise of complaint, as Fenris came. He simply swallowed, sucking gently until Fenris was limp and loose. Turning, Anders pressed his face to a lyrium-lined hip, gave a soft moan, body shaking as his own pleasure crested. Fenris smoothed back Anders' hair, watching as the mage nuzzled where hip met groin, and found himself soothed by the pleasured murmurs coming from his mage.

His mage. Two words he wasn't ready to touch. A concept Fenris shied from, even as he continued to stroke the blond hair. No, this had to be just about physical pleasure. He would never...could never...not with a mage. Surely.

And while the orgasm had been spectacular, it hadn't been enough. Not by any stretch of the imagination. That one orgasm seemed to only touch the very tip of Fenris' needs. But for now, it would do. Staggering towards his bed, hands still loosely wrapped in blond hair so that Anders had to shuffle after him, he resolved to handle the rest later, after a good sleep. He fell into bed, tugging the mage down with him.

“You will stay,” the words an order.

“Ah...yes...” Anders said hesitantly. “May I...I mean...can I...”

Fenris opened his eyes and just looked at the mage. “You wish to cuddle more?”

“Just for a few more minutes...” Anders gave him a pleading look. “Please?”

The please did it. Fenris nodded and sighed when he felt Anders tuck himself up against his back. The mage wiggled for a moment, exhaled, and pressed his face against Fenris' neck. Fenris settled, his body and mind finally at peace enough to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders strikes a bargain with Fenris about the entire "sexy dreams" situation...
> 
> Which leads down the path of angst...angst...and maybe some more angst...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not, as a general rule, enjoy writing angst. But when writing Fenders, it is almost required. 
> 
> So here you go.
> 
> I'm going to go hug my cats now.

Fenris woke slowly, eyes bleary and body lax. He had slept the through the afternoon: no dreams, no pain, no waking hard and achingly aroused. Well, he was aroused but not the feverish arousal he had been experiencing. It was pleasant. Wonderfully pleasant.

Rolling over brought Anders into view. The mage was awake and sitting cross-legged on the bed, humming tunelessly. He gave a lopsided smile when Fenris blinked. Seeing the mage sitting there gloriously naked, body still covered by bites and bruises, and hair mussed from sleep made the arousal go from pleasant to need. Pulling himself up and onto his knees, Fenris reached for Anders.

Who leaned back just a bit.

“Hey,” voice husky, Anders offered a wary smile to Fenris. “Ah...before you maul me again, can we talk?”

“Can we talk while I maul you?” Fenris' ears twitched in anticipation.

“Hah, will I be able to? Or will I have your cock down my throat again?” Anders watched Fenris flush. His flush made Anders' lopsided smile even out into something shy.

“Good point, what do you wish to speak of?” Fenris settled down next to Anders, willing to let the mage have his say, but not willing to give him any extra space.

“Look...um. Earlier was...good. Amazing. You taste amazing. But we need to...” Anders rubbed a hand over his face. “I used to do casual sex so well. Now, not so much. And with Justice...” Anders watched a grimace crawl over Fenris' face. “Exactly.”

“What are you saying, mage?” Fenris leaned forward, eyes pinning Anders in place.

“That I won't have hate sex with you. It's...it's not right. For either of us. Alright? I'm attracted. Maker's balls of course I'm attracted. But I can't...not thinking about how you dislike me. I'm...I don't....no...” Anders flexed his hands as if fighting off the urge to wring them. Fenris' leveled a look at him and Anders' raised his hands to stop what he was sure would be torrent of words “But I had an idea.”

“And that is?” Fenris' ears gave another twitch, curiosity and wariness now flitting across his face.

“We spend time together, and you get to know me. Really get to know me – and I don't mean that as a euphemism for more sex. I mean actually talk to me. Civilly. About things.” Anders’ voice was surprisingly firm. “I'll come over a few evenings a week after I'm done healing and we'll talk and...”

“And?” Fenris arched one brow, his ears flicking forward.

“You listen to me. I listen to you. And then...um...we can...I mean, if everything is going well we could...” Anders sighed. “It would be so much easier if Justice would stop babbling about licking you every five minutes.”

“Pardon?” That brought Fenris up short. “Your spirit wants to lick me?”

Anders waved his hands, “He's enamored of your markings. The lyrium calls to him, reminds him of the Fade. He says it sings.” Anders watched Fenris' face pale a bit, “I'm really sorry. Maybe this is a bad idea...”

“So your dem..spirit...” Fenris caught himself, “likes my lyrium. That would seem to make this easier for you then.”

“Yes well, I mean yes. No talk about how you're a distraction or how this is unjust or wrong or I should be working. But the nonstop thoughts about licking your body is, well, disturbing.” Anders tried a sheepish smile, throwing out puppy eyes just in case that would help as well.

Fenris gave Anders a considering look and reached out with one hand to cup Anders' cheek. Watching the mage closely, he slid long fingers over the stubble-covered chin till he could brush over the softer skin of lips. Anders licked at one finger and then sucked it into his mouth, making both of them groan.

“I do not hate you, Anders. But I can see your point. And I agree to your idea,” Fenris growled, sliding the finger from between the mage's lips. Moving lightning fast, he lunged and knocked Anders' back. “And now I am done talking. We will continue the talking after this.”

Anders gave a laugh and bared his throat to Fenris, inhaling sharply when the elf bit down and sucked. “Fine...your agreement is good. Yes. Good. No more talking...”

“No,” Fenris agreed, pressing his arousal firmly against Anders’ and bucking. “I've got other plans for you.” There was another laugh, and then a groan, and then nothing more but panting and moaning and the slide of two bodies against each other.

***

  
“You know, if we took a little time to clean when I visit, this mansion would be habitable,” Anders said, peering out of the bathing room and into the derelict hallway. “We could start by burning the corpses.”

Fenris grunted, which was about as much as he was willing to consider the idea, “This isn’t mine. It belongs to one of Danarius’ toady friends.”

“You know, I bet Varric could fix that for you,” Anders moved across the bathroom to start filling the tub. Dwarven plumbing – the mansion may be a pit, but it had dwarven plumbing. No heating rune, though. Which wasn’t a problem if Anders was there.

“Fix what?” Fenris was circling behind Anders, a look of concentration on his face as he took in the mage's back.

“The mansion’s ownership. I bet it wouldn’t take much to forge some paperwork. He’d do it for you, too.” Anders turned to lean against the cold marble of the tub’s lip. “Then we could burn the corpses.”

That made Fenris stop and consider. For about a second. “No, I want something that’s mine. Not something that is only mine due to subterfuge. Eventually, Danarius will find me. And when he does, I will kill him. And then…then I will find something to be mine.”

Anders had no words for Fenris. In a way, he envied the elf. Kill Danarius and his bonds were gone. He would be free. There was nobody that Anders could kill to gain his freedom. Only death would bring freedom. Death or a life constantly looking over his shoulder.

The brush of skin over his made him raise his eyes to meet green ones. “You think too much.” Fenris’ voice was a low growl.

“Mm. Never been accused of that before. It’s always been ‘Anders, you never think,’” He gave a mirthless laugh. “Escaped again? Did you not stop to think about how we always find you?” He seemed to be parodying somebody.

The tilt of Fenris’ head made him smile slightly, “Knight-Commander Greagoir. Head of the Ferelden Circle’s templars.” Anders just chuckled at the look of surprise on the elf’s face.

Turning and thrusting his hand into the cold water, Anders summoned a tendril of fire. As the water warmed, he turned to take in Fenris. “I escaped, well. Was it eight? Ten times? Hard to remember now.”

“The marks on your back,” Fenris said, connecting the dots.

“Mm. The punishment started off light: cleaning duty in the bathing rooms and laundry. Then public humiliation and cleaning. Then caning with healing and more cleaning. Then caning and no healing. Caning, no healing, and hard labor. Time in a cell. Time in the pit. Time with magebane shoved up my bum, caning, and no healing. But the one that I really remember is what happened after my second to last attempt: solitary.” Anders voice was mocking, sing-song teasing and careless, but the water nearest his hand started to boil.

“You’re flaring,” Fenris observed casually. “How long? In solitary?”

Anders swallowed, “A year.”

Fenris opened his mouth and shut it, not knowing exactly how to respond to that.

***

  
“Slaves were never left in solitary for a year, not if the Master wanted them to still function. A few weeks at the most worked just fine,” Fenris was rubbing soap over his chest and watching as the mage fidgeted and tried to get comfortable.

“Yes, well. We should just be glad they remembered to let me out. And it wasn't always so solitary,” Anders scooted down a bit more into the water and lifted a leg to make room, his foot propped up on the tub rim by Fenris' shoulder. “Where do you think I learned my amazing tongue technique?”

The flippant manner Anders used while speaking of his time in solitary made Fenris' skin crawl a little. He watched Anders scoot down a bit more into the water, his other foot now propped up on the other side on the tub. He gave a very feline purr and wiggled his shoulders.

“This is decadent. The best I can hope for most days is a bowl of cold water.” He wiggled his toes and, with a slightly wicked grin, slid one foot over enough to rub against one elf ear. Fenris sat straight up at that, eyes narrowing on the mage's face.

“You were beaten, refused treatment, forced into hard labor, dosed with magebane, and locked up for a year in solitary where templars raped you and you joke about it?” Fenris brushed off one of Anders' feet in annoyance.

“Don't forget the smiting. Lots of smiting. Can't have templars without a good smite. And what do you want me to do? Fall apart? Already did that. Karl was there for me when they finally let me out. I had problems with crowds, noises, communicating...” Anders toyed with one nipple ring, tugging on it repetitively as thoughts of Karl prodded at him. “My magic was erratic for a while. Karl helped me through the worst of it.”

Fenris watched as Anders dropped his hands, his head turning away. “Anyway. You wanted to know about the back scars so there you have it.”

Reaching out, Fenris took one of Anders' hands and tugged. It was awkward – both the sudden desire to comfort and maneuvering the mage around until his back was pressed against Fenris' chest. Anders just lay there, hands clenching against the tub.

“Ah, if you have me spend the night you should know that I sleep poorly and have nightmares. Warden hazards and all that.” His fingers tightened a hair more, knuckles going white. “So maybe I should just go back...”

“You will stay. Hawke brought food. We will eat and then get some rest.” Authoritarian seemed to settle better than the comfort. “And in the morning you will go heal.”

Anders tilted his head back so he could look up at Fenris, “You're being awfully accommodating.”

“Perhaps. There are many reasons to keep you here and not all of them are altruistic.” Fenris gave a small smile, a simple curl of his lips. That made Anders laugh. “Why do you not speak of any of this when you champion the mages?'

“Because I don't want to be the focus. Because what happened to me is bad but it isn't the worst. Because...” Anders grew quiet.

“You do not wish to relive it over and over again.” Fenris finished for him.

Anders sighed and relaxed, finally, his head resting against Fenris' shoulder. Quiet reigned for a few moments. Fenris picked up the soap and rubbed it over Anders' chest in a nearly absentminded manner. “What happened the last time you escaped?”

Anders let out a soft laugh, nearly a sob, “The Hero of Ferelden saved me.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders talks about the Hero of Ferelden to Fenris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 of the Angst Fest. 
> 
> I swear to the Maker we get happy silly stuff in the next chapter.

“Hawke brought you over a feast,” Anders was poking in one of the baskets. “There’s half a wheel of cheese in here. Too bad it’s cheddar. I prefer the creamer varieties.”

Fenris glanced up from the blanket he was spreading out on the ground, “I think there’s a ham in the other basket.”

“Maker, I hope it isn’t Orlesian. I love what they can do with a pastry crust, but their ham always tastes of despair. Nobody wants to eat despair. I don’t care how poncy you are,” Anders muttered as he started rifling through the other basket.

“Are you going to tell me about the Hero of Ferelden?” The question made Anders stiffen. Fenris hadn’t been able to get much more out of him in the bath, the mage clamming up and refusing to talk. Fenris had left it alone in favor of finishing up and getting some food. But now, now that food was being put out, it was time to finish learning about this Hero.

“It’s not Orlesian,” Anders let out a relieved sigh, turning to smile at Fenris. The smile slid from his face when his eyes met the elf’s. “Yes. Fine. Yes. I’ll tell you about her. Just, Maker. Give me some wine first.”

There was some shuffling as wine was pulled out and uncorked, baskets of food placed on the blanket, and Anders tried to change the subject. Fenris, though, refused. Something about this person, this Hero of Ferelden, was important. Life changing.

“Right, so I had made it all the way to the coast on my last run. I was angling to work my way to Highever and pick up a ship to anywhere when the templars caught up with me. They had me bound pretty good, too, brought an enchanted collar and enough magebane to keep me high and docile for a month. We stopped over at Vigil’s Keep for the night when the darkspawn attacked.”

Fenris watched Anders take a deep drink of wine, hands starting to shake. “The commotion had the templars pulling me out of the cell before they could collar me again, which was a good thing because a wave of darkspawn broke in. Most of the templars went down in the fight.” Anders’ lips tilted up into a wry smile. “Except for one or two that I took down.”

“So there I was, surrounded by templar bodies and darkspawn bodies and in comes this tiny little elf. Petite little thing. Spitting mad. Just cursing a blue streak. She stops, takes one look at me and the templars, and starts up again. I thought it was directed at me until she kicked a templar helmet across the room. Asked me if I wanted to stay there or if I had more fire in me. I couldn’t seem to say no to her, just fell and started fighting darkspawn.”

“It was all fun and games until we heard His Majesty was marching up the road. And she gets this look on her face, this look of resignation mixed with affection, and marches us out to meet him. And it is the King of Ferelden and he’s laughing because the Keep is sort of on fire at this point and she’s pointing at him and sort of huffing. It was all very affectionate, nearly teasing. All the way up until this templar rides up next to the King and says to back away because there’s a dangerous criminal about.” Anders shook his head, eyes rolling. “She meant me.”

“And I swear, I thought that was it. Right there. Nobody would help a runaway mage, right? This was the Hero of Ferelden and the King of Ferelden. The King got this pained look on his face, and I swear to the Maker, even his horse knew better than to stick around because they moved right when the Warden Commander did. Whip fast, she’s pulled daggers and shoved me behind her. She came up to my chest, Fenris. My chest. She levered those daggers at the templar and told her she’d like to see her try to take me back. Then she SPIT ON THE TEMPLAR.”

Anders was wide-eyed and breathless, the scene of Eavan spitting on Rylock forever emblazoned in his memory. He could still feel that breathless moment of horror, Rylock wiping the spit from her helmet, and the King bursting out into laughter. Fenris leaned forward and tapped his knee.

“Continue,” was all he said.

“Oh, right. Well then. So she conscripted me right there. Right out from under the noses of the templars. And the King allowed it. Maker, that woman. Eavan Tabris, Hero of Ferelden. How she hated the title. The entire pomp and circumstance. She fought for me every step of the way. She fought for all of us. Gathered us up and…and…” Anders stopped, “I can’t talk about her anymore. She’s the closest thing to family I’ve ever had. Weisshaupt moved her we cleaned out the Arling. Said they needed her for more important work. I...I can't...thinking of her hurts too much.”

Fenris was quiet as he ate, watching as Anders picked at his cheese. A look of pain flitted over the mages face, pain and nostalgia and grief. “Mage?” Worry clouded Fenris’ voice.

“It’s ok. I’m ok. Justice…we both knew her.” Anders gave a weak laugh and rubbed at his chest, over the tattoo.

“Is that one of the tattoos inspired by your warden friend?” Fenris pointed to the spot being rubbed.

“Mm, no. It’s her name.” Anders crumbled the cheese in his hand. “Just a remembrance. One of a few from that time. Anyway…” blowing out hard, Anders turned placid eyes to Fenris. “There you have it. She snatched me from the clutches of the templars. The only person to have ever stood up for me in the face of the Circle.”

“Certainly Hawke…” Fenris started.

“I would never ask,” Anders finished. “She’s an apostate as much as I am. No, if they find me here, I would not ask to be saved. Not and risk her freedom as well.”

“What were they going to do to you when you got back to the Circle? This templar group?” Fenris feared he knew but needed to hear it from Anders.

“The brand,” he whispered. “It would have been the brand.”

***

  
Anders was done for the night. He had quieted, his hands dancing over his hair, pulling at his clothes, plucking at the blanket in a constant bid to quiet his mind. Justice fretted, the memories and fear riling the spirit as much as it riled his host. Fenris sat on the blanket, drank wine, and watched Anders jitter until it became too much.

He hadn’t realized how much was stewing underneath all the mage’s bluster. There was more there, Fenris could tell. Could see it in the way those amber eyes glazed and then cleared. Wounds not healed had been touched and now bled..

And did it matter? Fenris wondered. Did it really? Anders was still a mage. An abomination. Possessed. Though it seemed this Hero of Ferelden had known Justice – which made no sense to Fenris. How could she know a Fade spirit? The question was packed away to be picked at later.

But for now, Fenris was stuck with a rocking, emotional, nervous mage. One he was attracted to. Terribly attracted to, if he was going to have a moment of honesty.

“Would you like to try to sleep?” Anders’ eyes swung over to meet the Fenris’. “Anders,” Fenris kept his voice patient. “Would you like to go to bed?”

“I…guess.” Anders started gathering up the baskets, putting food away. “We have enough for breakfast. That’ll be a rare treat.”

“What? Breakfast?” Fenris stood, taking the baskets from the mage and placing them back on his one good table. He turned and found Anders still on the blanket, his face blank. “Anders?”

“Hmm?” Glazed eyes lifted. “What?”

“Come to bed, Anders,” Fenris stressed the mage’s name. Anders nodded and stood, shuffling over to the bed to lie down.

Food put away and lamps trimmed, Fenris joined him after a few moments. They lay there, side by side in the gloom and it wasn’t unpleasant. Fenris had expected it to be. Sharing a bed with the mage, sleeping next to a mage, should have been oppressive, horrible. But it wasn’t.

“You may cuddle, if you need to,” Fenris finally said.

A breathless moment, a wet exhale, and then Anders was curling in tightly to Fenris’ side. Arms banded around the elf, clung, shook a bit, and Fenris found himself with an armful of shivering mage. Hesitating, he held himself still and then relaxed, arms settling around Anders.

***

He dreamed of Anders that night. He was on his knees again, back to Fenris. The collar around his throat was different – heavier, runes carved into the thick band. Back bleeding, hands torn and missing nails, Anders knelt at his feet and stared fixedly at the floor.

“Look at me,” Fenris heard his voice demand, the grating sound making him flinch even in sleep.

The mage shuffled, turning around to face him. Blank amber eyes met his green ones, facial features smoothed of all emotion. Fenris’ breath backed up into his throat at the lack of life, the utter stillness. And then his eyes widened. Blond hair slid back to reveal a mark – a brand.

A sunburst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eavan Tabris belongs to me and rarely allows me to write about any of my other Wardens. She has a hatred of: Nobles, the Dalish, Forests, the King of Orzammar, Most of the Diamond Quarter, Being referred to as Hero, Demons, Tevinter anything, and Templars.
> 
> I always imagined she spit on Rylock and then happily took the her head in Awakening.
> 
> Eavan is head of the Protect Anders Squad and may show up at some point. May Fenris be treating Anders well if she does. My money is on Eavan.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding Anders, well, passed out as usual over a table in his clinic, Fenris assumes responsibility of a mage he is rapidly calling "his."
> 
> Wicked Grace night - with Isabela - and really, does anything more need to be said?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight editing after posting - since it was noted that Fenris should have flipped the shit out.
> 
> I really need an editor some days...

Anders was gone when Fenris woke. No trace of the mage remained in the room beyond the faint smell of elfroot against the sheets. Fenris felt confused, unsure if he should be relieved that Anders had left or unaccountably upset. He wondered why Anders had fled, and wondered why it upset him so much that the mage had.

The next three days were spent replaying the dream and the image of Anders made tranquil. It shouldn’t have bothered Fenris. It shouldn’t have. Before all of this mess Fenris would have said the mage deserved it – he was, after all, an abomination. But now…now…knowing some of Anders’ history…he wasn’t sure. And for all that Fenris wanted to just shelve the dream ,and the entire idea of furthering his association with Anders, he couldn’t seem to let it alone. The thought of that brand burned into Anders’ skin filled Fenris will horror and unaccountably, sadness.

So Fenris sat in his mansion and did what he did best – he brooded. He went out, as appropriate, so that Hawke wouldn’t fuss or be a bother. He took a few jobs with Aveline to stay busy. But for the most part he brooded and drank ad thought about Anders in solitary, Anders being beaten, Anders stripped of everything that made him Anders.

He drank and thought and brooded until he couldn’t stand it anymore. Finally, he gave in and went to see the mage, if only to make sure nothing untoward had happened to him.

***

  
Anders had spent the last three days mired in healing hell. As usual, some sort of horrific plague had swept through Darktown. For a while it had seemed like the line of puking, feverish, ailing denizens would never shrink. He had poured healing potions down throats, had slathered on poultices, and had burned through lyrium potions faster than he could replenish them. Cots had filled, emptied, re-filled, and had finally emptied – leaving him a sweating, pale, shaking mess.

Which was what Fenris saw when he stepped into the clinic: Anders passed out over a table, skin wan and sickly. He looked like he had lost a good five pounds over the last three days – weight he didn’t have to lose. He was dreaming, something vexing by the way his hands clenched and the soft keening noises spilling from dry, cracked lips. Fenris shuffled in place for a moment, fighting between the twin desires to flee and comfort.

Comfort won out – barely.

“Mage,” Fenris tried for gentle and winced at the gravely rasp. “Mage, wake up.”

The keening grew into quiet sobbing broken by murmurs and pleas. Fenris reached out, stopping before his hand could connect. He looked at his gauntlet and then back to the upset mage. Closing his eyes and struggling to relax, he unbuckled the gauntlet and placed it on the ground.

“Mage, you must wake up now,” Fenris brushed his hand over disheveled, greasy hair. “Anders…wake up.”

The sound of his name finally reached through the dream and Anders blinked awake, his eyes rolling up to meet find Fenris’ face. “Fenris?” He mumbled. “What? What’s wrong?’

“I believe that question is one I should be asking you. You appear to be sick,” Fenris helped Anders sit up. “Have you not eaten? Not slept?”

“A plague hit,” Anders said on a sigh, rubbing at his face, “I’ve been healing nonstop for three days.”

“This is unhealthy. You have obviously lost weight. You feel feverish. You have not bathed, not slept. And you reek.” Fenris shifted and gave in to the need to nag mage. “You are done.”

Anders blinked owlishly at him, rocking a bit as he tried to wake up. “M’fine. Don’t fuss.”

“You are not.” Fenris bit out. “Do you have a tub?”

“Mm?” Anders looked around the clinic as if one would magically appear. “No?”

“Venhedis, you are coming with me.” Fenris grumbled, bending to get his gauntlet. “Fool of a mage. Not taking care of yourself. Not eating. Not sleeping.”

“You sound upset, Fenris. Over me? A mage?” The quip was sharp.

“Fasta vass, less blathering. Get up. Do you have clean clothing at least?” Fenris growled.

“Um…you ripped my other shirt.” Anders dithered a moment longer and then stood, swaying. “I really don’t need a nursemaid.”

“I disagree. Come. I shall make sure you are bathed and fed. It is Wicked Grace night.” Fenris gentled his voice, taking Anders arm. “Come mage, let us get you cleaned up.”

Anders sighed but followed, too tired and worn to care much what happened.

***

  
“I would really rather just go to bed,” Anders whined for what seemed like the tenth time. Fenris gave him a flat look.

“It is Wicked Grace night. Short of death, we do not miss it.” Fenris explained, again. Anders gave a sigh and started up the stairs to Varric's room.

“They're going to heckle us,” Anders tried, his tone wheedling. “We could go back to your place. Snuggle? Oh! Get a kitten and play?” The very thought made Anders perk up a bit.

“I will put a stop to any unwanted heckling,” Fenris said with a head shake. “And we are not getting a kitten.”

“I like kittens,” Anders muttered under his breath. “You could at least think about it.”

“Mage!” Fenris growled, fighting to calm down. Anders' puppy-dog eyes were right behind him; he could feel them burning into his back, and he gave a deep sigh. “We will discuss kittens later. Assuming I do not murder you this evening. Now shut up and get in this room. We will sit, you will have a cider, play some cards, and then come home with me to sleep. Do you understand?”

Anders mumbled something, glaring slightly when Fenris growled again. “I said yes. You know, Fenris. We aren't really in a relationship. You can't boss me around.”

“I believe I have established some manner of responsibility over your person, especially after finding you passed out in your clinic. Or do you wish to argue here in the hallway?” Anders looked like he was actually considering the merits of arguing. Fenris, not willing to listen to more mage blather, tugged Anders forward and simply kissed him.

“Oh...” Anders murmured, the taste of elf and lyrium shutting him up and making Justice swoon. “Alright.”

“Better. Now, let us actually sit down before I thump you.” Fenris opened Varric's door and strode in.

Anders stood in the hallway for a moment, touched his lips, and muttered, “Shut up, Justice. We can't lick him during Wicked Grace.” He ignored the internal whining and followed Fenris through the door.

***

The entire gang had gathered already, and it really was everybody. Even Aveline was there, eyes on him as he walked through the door. Straightening his coat, Anders turned to the table and the one seat left open – right next to Fenris.

Fenris gave him a mild look, one that clearly said “sit down and shut up.” So Anders sat down and stayed quiet. He really wanted to be in bed. Baring that, he wanted the opportunity to lick Fenris again – or that might be Justice talking. But he didn't want to be here longer than necessary. So he sat down next to Fenris and tried to not simply tilt forward and go back to sleep on the table.

Fenris, for his part, was watching Anders sway in his seat. The words “fool mage” ran through his mind again in a nearly fond tone of voice. Which had him frowning slightly. Anders swayed a little more and Fenris reached out to press him back against the seat.

The group sat silently and watched them both. Merrill had her chin propped in her hands, a large smile on her guileless face. Sebastian looked distinctly nauseous. Aveline simply shook her head and shuffled the cards. Varric was giving them both a large grin and taking notes. Fenris turned his eyes to the paper, and if looks could kill, the paper would have been charcoal. Hawke had the world's most awkward smile on her face. Clearly, she could still see the two of them half-naked in the clinic.

Isabela was vibrating in her chair. Anders and Fenris both finally looked at her, and that seemed to signal some internal signal because she inhaled, exhaled and grinned as if it was her Natal Day, “Hi Fenris. Anders. Isn't it absolutely surprising that you two showed up together?”

Hawke was rubbing her face and trying to swallow a groan. “Izzy. We talked about this...”

“You talked about it, Sweet Thing. And I watched your tits jiggle while you gestured. It was very distracting.” Isabela turned and gave Hawke a wet kiss on her cheek. “I'll have to have you do it again when we get home.”

“Izzy!” exasperation and a hint of amusement colored Hawke's voice. “Anders, are you ok?”

“Plague in Darktown,” he murmured. He swayed a little bit more and ended up leaning against Fenris. “So tired.”

“You could have stayed home, you know.” Hawke was trying to ignore the nuzzling now going on.

Fenris turned his head and frowned harder, “Mage. Sit up and stop licking my neck. I am not some piece of lyrium-laced candy.”

“Like a giant sucker? Or...oh...are you one of those mint sticks? Mm...” Isabela's eyes went glassy – whether it was due to the idea of mint sticks or Fenris getting licked like one was hard to tell.

“I am not a sweet,” Fenris grumbled, grabbing Anders by the coat collar and tugging him back. “Mage.”

“I'm sorry. When I'm tired Justice has more control. You know how he feels about you.” Anders whined softly, his skin gaining a decidedly blue-ish sheen.

“Oh! So you do have a threesome going on! Details!” Isabela clapped in delight.

Stunned silence greeted her. Varric snorted and grabbed another sheet of paper.

“But there're only two of them. Who's the third, Izzy?” Merrill pipped up, confusion on her face. “Oh! Justice! Well, but I wouldn't think...how does that work exactly, Fenris?”

Aveline gave a choked laugh and put her head on the table, her feet stomping on the floor. There was a brief shake of shoulders and then she seemed to pull herself together.

“For the love of the Maker, stop talking.” Anders pleaded.

“Can Fenris do anything special with those magical fists of his?” Isabela seemed to be on a roll. “Any interesting body parts fondled from the inside out? How about Anders’ little electricity trick? Does it make your lyrium sit up and tingle? Or anything else?”

“I told you we should have just gotten a kitten and stayed home,” Anders muttered.

“I'm beginning to agree with you,” Fenris groused.

Hawke grabbed Isabela and pulled her onto her lap, silencing her with a kiss. Isabela simply purred and grinned, obviously chalking the entire evening up as a success. “We are going to play cards. Not tease Anders and Fenris about whatever it is they've been up to. Which is none of our business. None. Right?”

“Damn straight,” Anders mumbled. “I'm going to go get a cider. Can I, um, get you anything Fenris?”

Isabela's eyes lit up, an unholy smile plastered across her face. Fenris shot her a look, his eyes softening when he turned back to Anders, “Wine. You know what I drink.”

“I bet he does,” Varric muttered, another piece of paper joining the small pile in front of him.

“What are you writing?” Merrill leaned forward to get a better look. “A new book?”

“Mm...it's a romance serial. Magister and Slave. It features a stern magister who carries a staff of dark wood etched with lyrium and his faithful slave, a beautiful blond elf.”

The room went back to stunned silence. Aveline put her head back down on the table, choking. Sebastian started praying for patience. Anders carefully placed a restraining hand on Fenris' chest. Fenris, for his part was emitting a low growl. There was a brief moment where Anders thought Fenris would push him aside, the moment ending in Fenris settling back, his eyes catching Anders' gaze.

“Right. Wine. Be right back. Don't hurt them, Fenris. I'm tired.” Anders pleaded.

“No promises mage, now hurry. Or there will be body parts when you return.” Fenris turned back to the group, his eyes sharp on the dwarf. “Now, Varric. I think we need to talk.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut and...shopping? 
> 
> Fenris has to go shopping, yes.

The door to the mansion slammed open, two bodies falling through to land on mildewed carpet. There was a brief struggle, limbs flailing as both rolled. Pinning Anders to the ground, Fenris bit at his neck. Anders responded by tugging futilely at armor buckles, finally digging fingers hard into the elf's taut ass.

“We're...next to a corpse,” Anders panted, inhaling sharply when Fenris bit down harder. “Corpse! Corpse!”

Fenris glanced over at the mummified remains and then down at Anders, “I suppose we should move.”

The mage's answering laugh turned into a heartfelt groan at the feeling of fingers massaging over straining laces. “Andraste's tits, now. We need to move now,” Was the breathless response.

Dragging each other up was the easy part. Navigating the stairs while attempting to undress proved almost more than either inebriated man could handle. Fenris tripped over a step and landed against Anders' back. Gauntlets caught in the thin fabric over Anders' chest and the mage's last shirt gave up the ghost.

Bits of cloth fluttered around them both as they gained the landing and finally the room. Anders opened his mouth to protest the loss of his remaining shirt and found himself with a mouth full of elf. There was a brief internal struggle as Anders wanted to argue about his shirt and Justice wanted to suck on the elf. Justice won and Anders shoved Fenris against a nearby wall and started licking down his neck.

A giddy laugh was torn from Fenris, “Am I a lollipop or a mint stick?”

Anders snickered, pressing his face to the side of the elf's neck, “Depends on if you have a staff up your ass or not.”

The responding snort was followed by more tearing noises, Anders' coat suffering a similar fate to his shirt. “I will owe you some clothing,” Fenris muttered before latching on to one of the nipple rings, his tongue tugging and toying with the piercing.

“Bed…bed…bed…” chanted Anders, struggling to get his pants off while still wearing boots.

Fenris came up for air and watched Anders finally kick off his boots and tug down pants and smalls. Fire roared through the elf's veins at the sight of all that freckled skin. It was a matter of moments to have his own armor pulled off, tunic flying across the room as he pushed Anders to the bed.

Sprawled on the rumpled sheets, hair a halo around his face, the mage looked half-debauched already. Fenris let his eyes linger over the tattoos and piercings before slowly untying his leggings. “Prepare yourself, mage. I do not think I will be patient enough.”

Tingles of magic cascaded over Fenris’ skin from the spell Anders cast. The sight of Anders' long legs tucked to his chest ,fingers pressing into his own body while his head rolled and he moaned softly nearly finished the evening early for Fenris.

“Grease,” Fenris ordered, one lyrium-lined hand sliding up a freckled leg to squeeze at the knee. “Now mage.”

Another shiver of magic, a palm of slick, a moment of teeth-clenching as it was spread over his thick arousal, and Fenris was pressing slowly into tight warmth. Settling over Anders, the elf took a moment to simply appreciate the sight of blond hair, reddened lips, and glazed amber eyes. And then he moved.

No words, Fenris thought in a moment of lucidity. There were no words for the sensations. Anders was writhing under him, hands twisting in the sheets, legs moving to wrap around the elf’s waist. Every thrust pushed soft whimpers and moans from him, little begging noises for more, to go faster, harder, deeper, till Fenris was slamming into the mage. Growling, Fenris grabbed Anders’ hands and pinned them, pressing his face against the mage’s neck to bite and suck, marking the mage as his.

“Fenris…I…I can’t…”Anders panted, hands stretching and tugging against the tight grip. “Going to…”

“So come, mage,” Fenris pulled back to watch, eyes narrowed in concentration as he fought to not tip over the ledge as well. He wanted to see Anders come undone, wanted to see the complete surrender beneath him, before he collapsed from his own pleasure.

A sharp inhale, the mage's body stiffening and then shuddering, warmth smearing between them as Anders pressed his head back hard into the mattress and bit down on a yell. All that restrained passion pushed Fenris over, his own body jerking erratically as he gave a sharp cry.

There was no thought to the sticky mess, no question if cuddling would be allowed. Fenris simply shoved them both further up onto the bed, resumed sprawling over Anders’ chest, and tugged a blanket over them both. Beneath him, Anders’ breath evened out as he slipped into sleep. The mage's arms were clutching at the elf, holding him tightly against a furred and sticky chest. Fenris supposed he should mind, he supposed he should be disgusted by it all, but he was too lax and loose to care about much.

“Fool mage,” he whispered nearly fondly as he nuzzled gently against the warm chest and slid into his own slumber.

***

  
Early morning was the best time to hit the market, reasoned Fenris. None of his companions should be out yet, and the crowds hadn’t had an opportunity to swell into a jostling mass. Fenris wouldn’t be out at all except that he had no food in the house and Anders had almost no clothing.

Which was his fault, Fenris was willing to concede.

Getting up had been surprisingly difficult, and not just because the sticky mess had turned into some sort of dried-glue substance. Anders had been sleeping peacefully for once, entire body curled around the elf. Fenris had pried himself loose and tucked the blankets back around the mage, sighing with some affection as the mage had murmured and buried himself in the pillows.

There had been a string of bite marks along Anders’ neck that had resembled a collar. It had taken a great deal of willpower to go bathe and dress. Fenris had wanted to tug the covers off of his mage and take him again.

Walking the market, Fenris thought about those words “his mage.” It still chafed a bit, the thought of being with a mage. Though watching Anders sleep this morning had made him think more about the man and less about the man's magical proclivities. It was true that Fenris had assumed some sort of responsibility over Anders. And it was true that Anders barely took care of himself. And a tired, hungry mage was a dangerous mage.

The thoughts made him shake his head and sigh – more at himself than the thought of Anders as dangerous. Still, to be so intimately involved with a mage. To crave his taste, his body under his...it was confusing and annoying. A mystery.

The sign for the tailor caught his eye and he gave another sigh, this one more resigned.

The table had plenty of good-quality broadcloth shirts: sturdy and built for wear. Fenris fingered one and thought perhaps a few of these would be a better idea than something thinner for his mage. Sizing didn’t seem to be a problem, Anders was tall and the shirts were long. Anders had broad shoulders…or would if he ate better…and the shirts were roomy. Fenris grabbed three of them.

The ruined coat teased at the back of Fenris’ mind and he waffled. That was something he could not readily replace. Not without the mage being with him. Paying for his purchases, Fenris pondered his options as he wandered the market – stopping when a table caught his eye.

It held mage robes.

Fenris wasn’t one to enjoy robes. Danarius had always worn ornate ones: draping things covered in embroidery and enchanted to aid his spell casting. They had all been made in silks and linens and finely tailored. These were a woven cotton and simple. He fingered one in a red and another one in a deep blue. The thought of his mage coming to him wearing one – just the robe – made his leggings suddenly tight. The thought of pulling Anders out of the mage robes made it harder to breathe.

He purchased both and tried to not think about how he was buying mage robes. For his mage. To wear for him. Varric would be unmanageable should he ever find out.

A few more stops and Fenris had his arms filled with packages of food and clothing. He was hungry, his feet were sore, and he wanted to soak in the tub with Anders. And then feed him. And then maybe lick some wine from the mage’s chest. The entire idea of Anders sprawled out with wine sliding through his chest hair spurred Fenris to move a little quicker.

But thoughts of wine-soaked mages scattered as he passed a shop. A small one, one not noticed before. Possibly because he had never had a reason to notice it. The small viewing window held a table holding ribbons and silk. A closer look had the scraps of fine cloth turning into sheer stockings of Orlesian silk. Fenris peered through the window and caught sight of a few tables inside.

Each held a small selection of corsets.

***

  
The blasted door had a bell. And it tinkled loudly as Fenris stepped into shop. The growing crowds were muffled once the door shut, closing him into a room filled with lace and silk. Something sweet perfumed the air, a feminine smell that accented the ruffles on display.

Mouth suddenly dry, Fenris stopped at a table and gazed down at one ornate confection – a corset of pale pink and ivory silk covered in tiny gold ruffles. He had an image of freckled skin covered in the pink and ivory and bit his lip.

“May I help you?” The saleswoman was an elf, young and pretty and smiling. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

Fenris opened his mouth and shut it, fear sizzling through him, “Ahh…”

“First time purchasing? Is it for your lover? Wife?” The young woman bustled over to another table, picking up a midnight blue silk corset accented with black lace. “This one has handmade lace from Orlais.”

“Um…” Fenris tried to find words. The blue would look good on Anders too, his brain chirped. “How do you…are there…I’m not sure…”

The smile on the woman’s face made him shuffle, “Do you know the size of her waist?”

Fenris carefully put his packages down and, with shaking hands, approximated the size of Anders’ waist. He knew it well, he had been gripping it tightly just the night before. The woman moved to him with a measuring tape and clucked, “Tall or short?”

“Tall?” Fenris felt sweat gathering between his shoulder blades.

“Mm…willowy or curvy?” The woman was bustling over to a far table.

“Willowy?” Fenris rubbed a shaking hand over his face.

The woman shot him a smile, “Well, for the best fit we recommend bringing her in for measurements. However, I do have a few that lace in the front and back. They would work best for more…intimate…settings.” Her voice teased at him as she held up an example, and he felt a flush burn his cheeks. “What do you think?”

Fenris thought he might melt through the floor. The confection was tawny gold and edged with dainty cream lace. It would make all those freckles pop, his brain gibbered. It was simple – nearly austere compared to the other corsets. He wanted it.

Ten minutes later, a new package added to his stack, Fenris made his way back to the mansion – tired, giddy, and apprehensive.

The damn corset was in the topmost package.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bathing and robes and...that pesky corset...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penbrydd and I are pretty convinced that Anders loves to cook. Yes...and he's very good at it as well.

Anders had not moved. Fenris came home and found the mage right where he had left him, huddled under blankets and clutching at pillows. Placing the packages down – and moving the corset to a chest for safe keeping – Fenris watched Anders sleep. The mage’s skin no longer looked waxy, but he still looked thin. Which was, in Fenris’ mind, completely unacceptable.

If Anders was HIS mage then Fenris needed to do a better job of taking care of him. The man obviously had no common sense when it came to things such as rest and food. Fenris’ ears twitched in agitation. The entire idea of taking care of any mage should have been abhorrent. Mages were not to be coddled and fussed over. But Anders had proven to be a bit of an exception, much to Fenris’ surprise. And deep down Fenris acknowledged that he gained a lot of satisfaction from nagging at his mage.

Anders hadn’t been completely wrong: Fenris had hated him at first. A mage and an abomination – spewing the idiocy of mage rights – Fenris had had no patience for the man. But it had been years now, years of adventuring with him. Years of watching the mage, of waiting for Anders to lose control like all abominations did.

And what Fenris had gradually started to notice was how wrong he had been. In none of the time they had adventured together had Fenris ever seen Anders cast a spell to harm a friend. He had never seen him hurt an innocent. There had been only one notable time that Justice had had to be coaxed down from a killing spree. Only one in the years that Fenris had known the man and spirit. And it had not been directed it at him. Considering how often he called Anders abomination and Justice demon, that seemed to be a significant endorsement towards Anders NOT being an abomination.

The mage gave and gave and gave, long past the point where most people stopped. All he had ever asked in return was to be included, be listened to, and be given a chance to be of help. Hawke gave him that chance again and again. Gradually, adventuring with the man had inured Fenris to most of his blatherings on about mage rights. Now it was a familiar buzzing in the background – a way to gauge how well Anders was holding up under any circumstance.

As the years settled, Fenris had fallen into the habit of grousing and prodding, barbed remarks and cruel taunting, all the while wondering just what it would take to make Anders snap and prove that Fenris had been correct. So far, Fenris had yet to find that one button to make Anders do anything more than flash blue and stalk away.

Wiping a hand over his face, frowning when his gauntlets caught a bit in his hair, Fenris tried to reconcile what he had known with what he now knew and came up with a whole lot of confusion. It would take more than one night of talking to settle anything between the two of them. Still, watching Anders sleep, something in Fenris shifted and warmed. He shuffled a bit in response.

“Anders…mage…you should wake. I have food and you need a bath,” Fenris sat on the side of the bed, slowly removing his gauntlets. “Come now and wake, you have slept enough.”

“Mmm?” Anders surfaced slowly, eyes blinking as he worked to focus. “You’re awake and dressed?”

“I went to the market for some things, food and clothing for you.” Fenris dropped his gauntlets and nudged them under the bed before reaching out to smooth back blond hair. “I have just returned. You slept all night and half the morning.”

“I feel like I’ve been sat on by an ogre.” Anders complained, nuzzling against the brushes of fingers.

Fenris’ lips twitched, “That is to be expected. Three days with no sleep or food and a night of drinking will cause anybody to feel under the weather.” Fenris narrowed his eyes a bit and started pulling off blankets. “You should bathe. We slept still covered in… “

Anders gave a light laugh and stretched, scratching at his chest and laughing more. “How did you ever get out of bed? We must have been practically glued together.”

“I was highly motivated,” was Fenris’ dry response, still unwinding blankets. “I wish to bathe with you.”

The simple statement had Anders stilling, his face growing pensive. “You…you aren’t kicking me out?”

“You mages, always prattling such nonsense. You are the one who left the last time. I did not kick you out.” Fenris finally freed Anders from the clutches of the blankets. “It was not well done of you.”

“I thought you wouldn’t want to see me. That it had been…” Anders bit his lip and reddened. “I apologize.”

Eyes rolling at the mage dramatics, Fenris stood and started removing his own clothing. “You may make it up to me by washing my back.”

A wide smile was Fenris’ reward and made the elf’s ears redden in slight embarrassment. Fenris hesitated a moment and then started to the bathing chamber, pleasure at making the mage smile warming him.

***

  
“It’s your turn,” Anders said, splashing water over Fenris’ back before grabbing for the soap.

The elf glanced behind him, eyebrow raised, “To do what?”

“Tell me a story about yourself. I told two: my back scars and the Hero of Ferelden. It’s your turn.” Anders started working soap across the lyrium-lined back, thumbs digging into knots to unkink and smooth away accumulated stress.

“I…” Fenris started, stopping to let out a gusty moan as one knot unraveled under Anders’ fingers, “Ah…have no stories to speak of.”

“I don’t believe that,” Anders said, a smile starting when Fenris arched into the massage. “Andraste’s pearly ass, your back is one giant knot.”

“Did she have a pearly ass?” Fenris asked while trying to think of something to share. His mind blanked and there was a breathless moment of panic.

“Maybe before the entire burning deal. Who would know?” Anders quipped, stopping to press his face to the back of Fenris’ neck, earning himself a chin full of soap. “You’re tensing.”

“I have no memories of before…before these marks. You know that. And the stories I have after are…” Fenris struggled. “I wrote to my sister.”

Anders blinked, “Your sister?”

“Yes. Varric has helped me track her down. She is in Qarinus. I have sent her a letter asking if she could visit.” Fenris fidgeted briefly before settling, his ears drooping. “I am, understandably, nervous.”

“I will go with you to see her when she visits,” Anders offered.

Fenris twisted around to fully look at Anders, eyes surprised, “You would?”

“Ah…yes. It would be…you would want…” Anders sighed. “It’s what you do in a relationship.”

Lips twitching, Fenris turned back around. “My back is not finished, mage.”

“So demanding,” Anders huffed, but returned to his rubbing. “Are we?”

“Mm?” Fenris’ lips curled up a little bit more, waiting to see if Anders would finish asking.

“In a relationship? Thing?” Fingers dug a bit deeper into the elf’s back.

“Silly mage,” Fenris murmured. “You will come back here tonight and eat dinner and sleep. Do not make me fetch you.”

The answering hum was warm.

***

  
“You bought me robes!” The laughter was nearly hysterical. “Oo, I like the blue color.” Anders held the robe up and then dropped his towel to shrug into it. “It fits!”

“I should hope I have a decent idea of your size,” Fenris muttered, pink tinging his ears. The robe looked better on Anders than he had anticipated.

Anders was busy wrapping the belt tight and smoothing the fabric. He patted at his chest, still laughing. “Haven’t had a robe since the Circle.” He waggled his eyebrows at Fenris. “These are good for getting up to all sorts of nonsense. And trust me. I did. Get up to nonsense that is. And no good. Both types.”

“You are ridiculous, mage.” Fenris shook his head.

“I know I look good,” Anders preened. “What else is…ooo…a red one! I wish it had some feathers. Maybe I can add some?”

“We will get you a new coat. You will have to be measured.” Fenris moved to the packages of food, unpacking cheese and loaves of bread for breakfast.

“What else? Oo…shirts! These are nice. It gets cold in Darktown, these feel warm.” Anders turned wide eyes on Fenris. “I’ve never had anybody buy me gifts before. Well, Eavan did. She got me this scarf…I’d never had a scarf before. Loved that scarf,” Anders muttered.

“What happened to your scarf?” Fenris pondered showing Anders the last package, if just to get it over with.

Anders gave a huff of displeasure, “It got caught on a Hurlock sword. Saved my life but it was shredded.”

Fenris made a mental note to purchase Anders a new scarf.

“You didn’t have to do all of this. I could have figured something out.” Anders was still patting at his robe, his fingers rubbing at the fabric.

“I will not have my mage wandering around in tattered clothing,” muttered Fenris, more to himself.

“What?” Anders blinked at Fenris, surprise bright in his eyes. “What did you say?”

“Sit and eat, Anders. You are blathering again.” Fenris brought a loaf of bread and some cheese to the mage. “You will eat the entire loaf. You are practically malnourished.”

“Am not,” Anders argued, forgetting what he had thought Fenris had said in favor of shoving bread and cheese in his mouth. “I’ll bring dinner tonight, ok?”

“I hesitate to ask from where,” Fenris sat down with his own bread and cheese, content with the food and company. He watched Anders inhale his food. The elf just broke his own loaf in half and shared.

“I cook” Anders shot Fenris an insulted glare. “I’m a good cook. You’ll see. Prepare to be amazed.” The other half of bread disappeared into the mage's mouth. Anders looked down at his empty hands and gave Fenris a sheepish smile.

“Warden…we eat a lot.”

“Mm, you should eat in general,” was the mild response. Anders snorted and brushed crumbs from his robe.

I have one other thing for you,” Fenris hesitated. “And if you do not wish…what I mean is, I would…”

Anders was giving him another wide-eyed look and it was making Fenris sweat. Swallowing, he went and got the last package. Dithering, he gave a disgruntled huff and handed it to Anders.

“What’s this…oh, look at the color…wait…”Anders pulled out the corset and then shot Fenris a look. “This is a corset.”

“Yes,” was all Fenris said, his ears nearly vibrating with nerves.

“It’s…I know I like robes but…” Anders held it up. The color was beautiful. And he liked the lace…

“If you would…I will explain this evening…” Fenris was crimson and his eyes were down on his shuffling feet.

Anders fingered the lace and shot a look up at the elf, peering at him through lashes, “I’d need help getting into it.” Green startled eyes met amber, Anders smiling at the stare. “Provided you explain.”

Fenris swallowed and nodded, unsure of what to say. Fear, shame, and anger were warring with the flush of pleasure. Anders had liked the corset and would wear it. Clearing his throat, Fenris sat back down, “I will try to explain.”

Anders turned the corset over and smoothed long fingers over the boning. “I am really looking forward to hearing about this.” The tone of voice wasn’t teasing, and the look when his eyes met Fenris’ again was definitely full of interest and heat. “And now, I should go heal…”

“I will walk you,” Fenris stood, taking the corset and placing it back in the trunk. “For tonight,” He explained.

“For tonight,” agreed Anders.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussions with Hawke...
> 
> Fenris sees Anders in action as Healer...
> 
> Relationship progression ahead. ::nods::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes yes - this is chapter 12 of what should have been a "short story."
> 
> I have more chapters working and a sequel or two planned....and I think it's safe to say I'm not done with this entire idea yet.

Shelving the last of the potions, Anders turned to survey the clinic. It had been a quiet day, all things considered. Other than the two stabbings, all of his patients had had normal illnesses. It had been very nearly pleasant. He felt rested, he had eaten, he had new clothes...

A lover...

Taking a seat on a wobbly stool, Anders stopped to ponder the conundrum that was Fenris. The man had hated him for years, and it had been a pretty obvious dislike. And Anders had returned the dislike with his own brand of snark and snide commentary. And then the incident had happened. And really, Anders had figured that a night of purging was enough to put any romantic interests off...forever...but it seemed to have kindled something in the elf.

The elf who nagged at him and fed him and bought him new clothes. And had left him covered in bruises and sitting rather gingerly. Anders had healed up the bruises that could be seen above his robe, but had left the ones that dotted his chest. He had fixed the sitting problem – nobody wanted to see a healer that waddled when he walked – but he was kind of hoping to have the same problem tomorrow.

It wasn't just Fenris that was causing confusion either. What really had Anders twisted up was Justice's response to this entire mess. Justice had long disagreed with any ideas of romantic attachment – even one night stands got a solid NO from the spirit. But Fenris, despite years of calling the fade spirit a demon, made Justice purr like a kitten – an analogy that was both adorable and disturbing. Of bigger import was how often Justice now nagged Anders to lick or suck on the elf.

Visions of having to go through what was left of his life with lips attached to the lyrium-lined elf danced through Anders' brain. Justice gave a purr of approval. Anders reminded that part of himself that no work would ever get done.

A knock had his head lifting, eyes finding Hawke in the doorway. “Oh. Hawke...”

“Hey Anders. You have a minute? It looks like you might for once.” Hawke moved into his clinic and sat down. Her face was pensive, hands restlessly tugging at her coat.

Anders twisted to face her, tilting his head, “Are you ok? You look a little...”

“I'm just concerned about you, that's all.” Hawke interjected before Anders could start nagging. “About what's going on with you and Fenris. Are you ok? Is he...is he forcing you to do...things...”

Anders wiped a hand over his face and let out a choked laugh. “Hawke...Anya...do you honestly think Fenris could force me to do anything I didn't want to do? Or Justice didn't want to do?”

“So what's going on? Because just a couple of weeks ago you two were at each others' throats. Now you're...nuzzling...during Wicked Grace. I'm worried. For you.” Hawke shifted, tugging her staff off of her back with a grumble. “The man hates mages. I mean, he seems alright with me but...”

“I'm sleeping with the mage-hating elf. Yes, I know.” Anders sat up and shrugged. “I don't know what's going on. He's...he's listening to me, though. And seems sincere. I'm willing to...ah. To give him a chance.”

Hawke hummed softly, “Are you really sleeping with him? You never sleep.”

“Maker, you sound like Fenris now. I slept last night. In a bed too, not draped over my table like a wet towel.” Anders kicked at the floor and crinkled up his nose. “Slept at his place, actually.”

Hawke pondered that tidbit of knowledge and decided to not touch it yet. “What's up with the robe? Never seen you in one, not that it doesn’t look good. Makes you look so…” Hawke gave a laugh, “So proper and prim. A real mage, not some wild apostate.”

“Ahh,” The flush spread up his neck to tease at his cheeks, “There was an incident involving my shirt and coat.”

Hawke’s amused hum had him huffing softly. “He does have very pointy armor,” was all she said.

“Much to the detriment of my clothing. He…he went shopping for me.” Anders’ face was a mix of amazement and embarrassment. “He bought me clothing.”

“You’ve needed new clothes for a while. Look, I don't want to see you hurt. Either of you. Just promise me you'll tell me if you need help.” Hawke stood. “And I'm sorry for Izzy.”

“Pft. Don't apologize for her. She's just being Isabela. If she didn't make inappropriate comments I'd worry she was on her death bed.” Anders stood and shuffled, Justice nagging slightly that they were to get dinner for the elf. “Justice is really very enamored of Fenris.”

Hawke blinked and then burst out laughing, “Seriously? The Fade Spirit has a crush on the broody elf? Maker, don't tell Varric.”

“You don't tell Varric,” Anders countered, moving to wrap his arms around his friend. “Maybe...maybe he's changed. Maker knows, I have.”

Hawke squeezed him in a tight hug, “Well, you know where I am. If you get in over your head I expect you to show up at the mansion. I don't want to find you half-dead down here. Again.”

“Right. Right. Stop nagging. Go tease Isabela.” Anders pressed a quick kiss to Hawke's forehead. “Oh...Fenris mentioned he had written to his sister...”

“I helped him compose the letter...what about it?” Hawke grabbed her staff and glanced at Anders.

“Will you just make sure I know when she shows up? I...I have a feeling he'll need somebody.” Anders tapped his fingers against his hip. “I want to be there for him.”

“I'll do it, Anders.” Hawke started for the door. “Don't do anything too crazy with that broody elf,” she threw over her shoulder as she flitted out into Darktown.

“Wouldn't dream of it,” murmured Anders.

***

  
‘It is time to close, Anders,” Fenris walked through the clinic door and glanced around, pleased to see it mostly empty. The cots stood orderly, the desk was tidied, and there didn’t seem to be any blood or other bodily fluids anywhere. The only patient was a little boy being tended to by Anders. The boy was sniffling as Anders slowly wrapped a bandage around one thin arm.

“Shh, you’re all better. See? I put something on the cut to make it stop hurting and a bandage to keep it safe. Ok?” Anders ignored Fenris is favor of speaking in soothing tones. “Now, were you a good boy, Nev?”

Nev’s eyes were wide on Anders’ face as he nodded and Anders broke out into a sunny smile at the softly whispered, “Yes.”

“Yes you were.” Anders beamed at the young child, ruffling his hair. “Now run home and watch out for sharp edges and stairs. They bite.”

“Yes Healer,” The boy giggled, hopping off the cot. He turned inquisitive eyes to Fenris. “He’s all sharp edges.”

“Mm, yes he is. But just on the outside. He won’t bite, I promise.” Anders raised his eyebrows at Fenris who shuffled and tried to look harmless.

“He has a big sword,” the youngster considered Fenris closely, “Bigger’n him, Healer.”

“He can swing it too,” Anders said, amusement coloring his voice. “Nev, this is Fenris. Fenris, this youngster is Nev. I see him once every few days due to a random scrape or scratch.”

“The walls have sharp edges and I fall a lot,” Nev explained. Now that he was standing, Fenris could see that one of his legs was shorter than the other.

“Those pesky walls,” Anders added again, standing as well. He moved to his table and rifled around, pulling out a small pouch and extracting a few copper. “Here, Nev. Buy you and your mother some dinner on me.”

“She said to stop doing that,” Nev said, accepting the coins anyway. “But you said to ignore her.”

“I did. Now get home before it gets too late.” Anders smoothed down the young boy’s hair and watched him move quickly from the clinic. Shaking his head, he gathered up his pouch and started blowing out lanterns.

“His leg…” Fenris watched Nev navigate some stairs and then take off at a near-run.

“He was born like that. I wasn’t here or it wouldn’t have happened.” Anders closed his eyes and sighed, “He gets bullied, pushed into the walls or down the stairs. It’s just him and his mother, Ferelden of course. They don’t have the coin to return home and she barely makes enough sewing. I pass on a few coins when Nev comes in and she sends me cloth for bandages. We both nag at each other and keep doing it.”

Warm hands and cool metal smoothed over his face and Anders opened his eyes in surprise. Fenris stood close, gauntlet-covered hands stroking over his cheeks. A look of astonishment was on the elf’s face, shock and slight embarrassment and fondness. “Silly mage,” his voice a murmur. “Always so concerned with others. How do you eat if you pass out your coin?”

“I manage,” Anders purred slightly at the touch. “I have coin to buy dinner tonight.”

“You are cooking so I shall purchase. No, do not argue, Anders. It is time to come with me.” Fenris slowly pulled back, his ears reddening.

Anders huffed but didn’t argue. Instead he pulled Fenris back against him and bent down to brush his lips over the elf’s. A sharp inhale and a gauntlet-covered hand sliding into his hair convinced him it was ok to deepen the kiss, to taste and nibble. Gradually, the kiss ended and Anders was left gazing at Fenris with somber eyes, “I…ok. I’m ready. Let’s go.”

“Or we could lock the doors,” Fenris growled, pushing Anders back against the table.

Anders gave a choked laugh, the laugh turning to a heartfelt groan when a legging-covered leg slid between his thighs. Fenris pinned him there, green eyes snapping with heat. “Fenris,” Anders murmured.

“It is very difficult sometimes. To not simply rip your clothing from you and take.” Shaking and breathing rough, Fenris tried to swallow down the sudden spurt of need.

“This is tied into the corset thing, then?” Anders murmured, arching up as the leg rubbed over his growing arousal. “Should I feel let down that it’s not about me at all?”

Fenris pressed his face close to Anders’, “It is completely about you, mage. I dream of nobody else. I want nobody else.”

That made Anders swallow and go limp, “We should…we should get dinner fixings and go to your mansion. If we stay here…”

Eyes considering, Fenris pressed himself fully against the mage and gave in to the need for a brief, violent kiss. Gathering himself together, the elf stopped short of ripping off the new robe and taking Anders there in the clinic, “Dinner...dinner sounds pleasant.” He cleared his throat “Will you eat wearing just the corset?”

“Will you explain about the corset while I cook?” Anders countered.

“I will attempt to.” Some shuffling and then Fenris was tugging Anders up. “Come mage, let us do our shopping. The sooner we are done, the sooner we can be at the mansion. And the sooner I can have you back in bed.”

The very thought of being back in bed, in a corset or not, was enough to have Anders closing the clinic and blowing out the lantern with no second thought. Deep in the recesses of his mind, Justice put up a half-hearted argument towards staying to work and then subsided, the thought of licking the elf satisfying him more than any amount of writing and planning.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussion of corset dreams brings on discussion of Tower history...
> 
> Corset smut ahead!
> 
> Warning: allusions to rape/non-con in this chapter at the beginning and also near the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! FINALLY - Anders in the corset.
> 
> And then smut. 
> 
> Rejoice!

“Where did you learn to cook?” Fenris was hovering just inside the kitchen and watching Anders rub oil and then salt into the skin of three quail.

“Mm…well, it started when I joined the Wardens. I really had a chance to settle down and pick up some skills that didn’t include squeezing out of windows and running from templars. Nate was an excellent cook. He was excellent at a lot of things…things he taught me over time.” Anders stuffed fresh herbs into the birds' cavities and then quickly trussed them.

The kitchen had been dusty but not rank like the rest of the mansion – probably because Fenris actually used the room on occasion. The nearby storeroom was a mess, but the actual kitchen was useable. After a little scrubbing, Anders gave it a passable grade. He swore he would be coming back down here later, though, to properly clean the entire room.

Turning to grab the large pan that had been greased and left to heat on the stove top, Anders shot Fenris a grin. All three quail went into the pan and the pan went into the hot oven. Then Anders pulled out the onions and cabbage he had bought and started slicing. “He taught me all sorts of fun things: how to build a fire, how to set up a tent…how to cook. Once I had the basics, well…cooking is like potion making, find a recipe and follow the directions. Easy.”

“It does not appear to be easy,” Fenris observed, watching as Anders finished slicing the vegetables and threw them into a hot skillet. “What are you making now?”

“I’ll sauté these with chestnuts and serve the quail on top. We have fresh bread to go with it. And wine, of course. Are you going to tell me about the corset thing or am I to simply guess?” Anders stopped stirring long enough to throw the elf an inquisitive glance.

Shuffling, Fenris thought about where to start. Ears burning hot, he leaned against the door and looked everywhere but at Anders, “I have already told about the explicit dreams. I did not share everything. You are always dressed in a corset, always wearing silk stockings, always…these dreams are not simply you submitting to my will. You are always dressed a certain way.”

Anders had stopped stirring and was staring at him. “You…what?”

“I believe I have already told you about how you wore a golden collar and acted as a body slave. You did everything I told you to,” Fenris’ voice had deepened, heat curling over him as he recalled the dreams. “Everything.”

“Maker…” Anders breathed out. “Um…so…everything?”

Fenris laughed, a dark note shivering through the air to twist around Anders. “Tied up or no, you were willing.”

“Not much for being tied down.” Anders turned back to his skillet, pulling the now-wilted vegetables off the stove and moving the pan to the table. “I’ve…been...being at somebody’s mercy and not being able to say no…”

“You speak of your time in the Circle.” Fenris moved into the kitchen, eyes on Anders.

Anders placed his hands flat on the work table and hung his head, exhaling. “Can there be consent when the person requesting you to drop to your knees holds your life in their hands? When the person who asks you to bend over carries the key to your cell? When they keep you in the dark and alone for weeks and then offer you a bit of touch? Is that consent of any kind?”

“The templars did this?” Fenris spoke slowly, carefully. “Was it…”

“Frequent? The same ones over and over again? I can tell you I that had repeat visitors. I can tell you it was more than one or two. Near the end, I didn’t care what they did to me as long as I wasn’t left alone in the dark anymore.” The wood under his hands began to char.

“I will not tie you down, then,” Fenris reached out and slowly pulled Anders’ hands from the table. “I will not force. I have had enough forced…interactions…to last a lifetime.”

The sob caught in Anders’ throat, choking him as it worked to explode. He swallowed past it, tamping down the fear and anger. Justice flared as he wrestled for control, fade blue skittering over pale skin. Fenris saw the cracks and activated his brands, pushing between the table and Anders’ chest. Spirit eyes gazed at him and Fenris felt the cold shiver of fear run down his spine.

And then honey brown slowly took over. Anders blew out a breath and shuddered. “I’m sorry…I…”

“You were reliving a bad memory. I think both of us understand the power of memories,” Fenris’ voice held a hint of bitterness. “Will the corset…”

“The corset will not cause problems, no. Just the ropes. But, “Anders’ lips quirked up into a teasing smile, “I am willing to be held down and there are many fun activities that we can…try…and the collar may be able to be handled if it’s the right type…”

“Fool mage,” Fenris whispered a moment before tugging him down for a kiss. “You will be the death of me,” he murmured.

“And you will be the cause of a burnt dinner. Let me finish and I’ll change. And then we can eat.” The tension seeped from Anders, making him relax against the elf. “I’m rather looking forward to this…”

***

  
“You know how to wear a corset?” Fenris was sitting on a blanket spread in front of the fireplace and watching Anders fit the corset around his torso.

“Hah...funny story that. So the second to last time I escaped – the one that landed me in solitary for a year? I headed to Denerim. Though I could blend in, you know? Big city and all that. I took a job at the Pearl, the big brothel in town. They were happy to take on a healer and I was thrilled to have a safe place.” Anders straightened the lines of the corset and started tightening the front laces.

“I would heal the workers, of course. But I would also help them get into their corsets. A client would leave, they would bathe, and I would pop in to fix any issues and lace them back in. Men and women.” Anders winked at Fenris. “I wore one of these a few times...when I felt like picking up extra coin. The Madame was very forgiving. Thought I was charming.” Anders tugged tighter on the laces, straightening the placket of cloth between the two edges. “I'm going to need your help.”

“Mine?” Fenris stood and walked to him slowly. “What do you need me to do?”

“Right. Let me just tie this off. I left the back laces loose so that we could tighten them. Untie the bow and I want you to pull. Stop when I say stop or the evening will be over before we can get it started.” Anders turned to fireplace, gripping the mantel and taking a deep breath. “Ok...pull.”

Fenris untied the bow and tugged on the strings. The boning closed a centimeter. Anders exhaled and glanced over his shoulder. “Pick up the slack from the laces above and below the bow as I inhale. Then pull...hard.”

Fenris fidgeted with the laces a moment, straightening and pulling them tighter. Anders slowly inhaled and Fenris pulled as he did, tugging harder. Anders' hands smacked the mantel and Fenris took that as a sign to perhaps stop pulling and tie the entire deal off.

Turning and tugging the front laces tighter, Anders shot the mesmerized elf a wink. “Smalls on or off?”

The question made Fenris' throat swell a bit. “Ahh...on...for now. Or we won't eat dinner.”

“On it is. You should have picked me up something fancier than my old ones. These look tacky against the gold cloth,” Anders smoothed his hands over the fine fabric. “Mm...I'd say I'll have problems eating but that's a blatant lie. I never have problems eating.”

Fenris was busy trying to remember how to breathe. The corset nipped in Anders' waist, giving him actual hips. The top flirted just under the nipple rings, the lace brushing over the metal teasingly with each breath. The corset was long enough to fit over the top of his smalls and the front...Maker help him, only accented the thick length of Anders' cock.

Anders might be able to eat dinner, but Fenris was fairly certain he was going to pass out from all the blood rushing from his head.

“Fenris?” Anders moved closer to the elf, concern on his face. “Are you alright?”

He needed to get Anders to not stand so close. He needed to perhaps sit in a different room. Or in a bath of cold water. The mage moved closer still, the fresh smell of herbs from dinner mixing with the unique scent of Anders. Fenris flexed his hands, eyes tracking every moment made by the mage.

“Fenris, really. You need to speak to me...” Anders let out a squeak as he was shoved back, hard, against the wall next to the fireplace and pined in place by Fenris.

There was the distinct sound of ripping cloth and what was left of Anders' smalls fluttered to the floor as Fenris flashed blue. Both stopped to look at each other, Anders covering his mouth with the back of one hand and snorting. Fenris bit his lip, his ears burning red from embarrassment..

“I shall buy you new smalls,” the sigh was filled with resignation and amusement. “Perhaps I should just purchase you an entire wardrobe.”

“Can we get some smalls to match the corset?” Anders was trying, valiantly, to not giggle. “I wore my robes here. I'm used to letting everything hang out under robes.”

Fenris bit off a laugh and pulled Anders to the bed, “We have set a horrible precedent with your clothing. I do not wish to damage the corset.”

“Maker no!” Anders patted at the silk while he was being shoved to the bed. “It's so pretty.”

That finally made Fenris chuckle. The elf spun the mage and gave him a solid shove, Anders falling over the bed. He scrambled up, ending up sprawled across the remaining blankets. Fenris stopped at the edge of the mattress, enjoying the view while he pulled off his clothes.

“No, I want you on your stomach,” Fenris growled softly, stopping the mage from rolling over by sliding one hand up a leg to squeeze at the back of one thigh. Anders let out a breathless laugh and arched his hips in invitation.

“Like this?” He threw a heated look at the elf and flattened his chest to the mattress, lifting his ass. The corset framed pale skin and freckles, and the color did make the freckles pop.

Fenris gave another growl and slid over Anders, pressing his cock tightly against smooth skin. The groan from Anders' grew louder as teeth bit down on his shoulder, nipped a line from shoulder to shoulder and then down his spine. Hands clenched at his silk covered waist, holding him steady as the biting resumed at the base of the corset.

“Sweet Maker!” Anders' gasped as Fenris bit hard over the cat tattoo, teeth digging into skin. The rasp of tongue soothed the sting briefly before teeth bit deep again, this time slightly below the tattoo.

Fenris pulled back, admiring the teeth marks and reddened skin. His mage, his mind repeated. His. Anders was rocking his hips, panting softly into the bed – aroused and making delightful little pleasured murmurs. He had done that, Fenris thought. He had reduced his mage to moaning.

Those thoughts gentled his touch, his hands sliding instead of gripping. Lips were pressed to the hem of the corset, tongue tracing patterns from the hem of the corset down to the lower back and then down, further, to tease over more sensitive skin. Lapping and swirling, pressing gently and then more insistently as Anders went from moaning to gibbering to keening.

He didn't have to ask this time. The sizzle of magic drifted over him and then the mage was holding a handful of grease, offering it wordlessly to Fenris, a silent plea in his eyes. No questions were asked, Fenris simply took the grease and then a second later, took Anders.

It wasn’t as fast as the first time, not as frantic. Pleasured murmurs were pulled from Anders with each deep thrust, with each stroke of fingers down his spine. Fenris curled over his mage, pressed his face to the scarred skin between shoulder blades, lost himself in the tight warmth of the body beneath him.

Fenris’ name spilled from Anders’ lips at the moment of orgasm, body clenching and shivering under the elf and driving him over the brink. Breath caught on a soft sob as Fenris’ tattoos lit, his own orgasm causing him to lose control. And then Anders was collapsing onto the bed, Fenris cuddled against his back.

Laughter bubbled up from the mage, his shoulders shaking. “I woke up covered in my own cum. It’s dinner time and I’m back to covered in my own cum. Is this how every day is going to start and stop?”

“Mm…perhaps.” Fenris nibbled at the back of Anders’ neck. “Will dinner be ruined if you clean yourself first?”

“It’ll keep, I think,” Anders slowly rolled over, giving Fenris time to slide to the bed. “Was that as good as your dreams?”

Green eyes narrowed and turned thoughtful, “Hard to say. We may need to try it again later.”

Anders blinked and then laughed harder, “After dinner. After dinner and you can see if you can wear me out. Or if I can wear you out. I am a warden, after all.” Eyebrows waggling, Anders propped himself up on his elbows and took in the elf. “You’ve been letting me sleep and feeding me. I could probably go another three or five rounds.”

Fenris arched an eyebrow, his face a mixture of horror and intrigue. “Dinner first. I think I can come up with several ways to keep you from wearing me down too fast.”

“Now that sounds like a plan worth following,” Anders nodded, slipping from the bed. “Let me clean up and I’ll grab food. And then…then you can see if you can tire me out.”

Fenris watched as the mage sashayed from the room, a cocky swing to his hips. He had to admit, the challenge was exciting and heated his blood. Fenris figured he wouldn’t share with Anders all the ways Danarius had trained him – it would better to show him.

A thought that should make his skin crawl…but didn’t. Perhaps choosing to use his knowledge instead of being forced to made the difference. Certainly choosing to be with a mage, having the freedom to walk away at any time, seemed to be different. And perhaps, perhaps that was all Fenris needed to focus on.

His choice.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of dinner and corsets and smut...
> 
> And sweetness...yes. Aww. Let's enjoy it while it lasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penbrydd - this is most definitely written because of you and all of your "let's stick Fenris' blue, glowy hands into every part of Anders" smutty writing. May you enjoy the entire, smutty chapter.

The quail had been delicious – surprisingly savory and rich. Fenris licked grease from his fingers and watched as his mage picked apart his second quail. They were on the blanket, Fenris settled with his back against a one of the chairs and Anders lounging on his side – still gloriously naked except for the corset. Fenris had pulled his leggings back on, but had left them unlaced. It was the most relaxed he'd been in, well, he didn’t think he’d ever been this relaxed.

Anders glanced up at him and grinned, the smile knowing. Fenris arched an eyebrow and drank some wine, refusing to be teased. Instead, he let his eyes trail down the mage's body, appreciating the long line of pale skin and the silk wrapped snuggly around chest and waist. Anders seemed to appreciate the perusal, his cock stirring and starting to stiffen. The sight made Fenris' lips twitch.

“Like what you see?” Anders purred and rolled to his back to stretch.

“You are a flirt,” Fenris responded, amusement coloring his voice. “And seem to be enjoying this.”

Ambers eyes met green, “I am. It's closer to how I was before...everything...” His voice drifted into silence.

“Before your spirit, you mean,” Fenris gathered the plates up, moving them to his table while keeping an eye on the mage. “Before you joined with it.”

“Yes.” Licking suddenly dry lips, Anders closed his eyes and forced his body to relax. It was easy to let go when they ate, when no words were involved, when Fenris' hands were on him. But just talking...that was hard. “I was a self-absorbed git before Justice. I admit it. I didn't want responsibility. Sure, I thought mages deserved better – it's why I kept running. I wanted to be free. But to fight for every mage? To stand up for them? No, I wasn't that man. I liked being superficial, chasing the pleasure...living for each moment.”

“And now?” Fenris had sat down close to his mage, one cloth-covered leg pressing against Anders' outer thigh. “How do you feel now?”

“Now my wants and needs aren't important,” Anders opened his eyes. “You have to understand, when I joined with Justice I sacrificed all those frivolous parts of myself. It was necessary. I thought at the time I was saving a friend, keeping him from dying...and I was. But there was a price and I had to pay it.”

Fenris pondered those words, “Do not demons exact a price for their gifts?”

Pillowing his head on his arms, Anders pondered the question. “They offer power, wealth, to turn dreams into reality...depending on the demon. All you have to do is take them with you, give them a way into our world. For the mages who summons a demon in a time of fear, the sacrifice seems reasonable. Save my life and I will give you anything. For a young mage or somebody about to die, it seems like the only choice. And the sacrifice always seems doable all the way up until you take the offer – then you realize the sacrifice is your life anyway.” Fenris grimaced and Anders gave a shrug, “I was tempted a few times while in solitary. Nothing they could offer was good enough. ”

“What would it have taken?” Fenris wondered aloud.

“I just wanted to go back to when I was a boy and not set the barn on fire. I wanted a do-over. A real one. Not a fade dream.” Anders' eyes were fixed firmly on the ceiling. “They offered to tear down the tower, free me, give me all the love and respect I deserved to have. But they couldn't give me back my childhood or my family.”

Fenris thought about those words, about his own regrets, his missing memories, his curiosity about his sister. Was it better or worse that Anders could remember before the Circle, could remember before the torture and solitary? Was it a gift or a curse?

“What did Justice offer?” Fenris needed to know. It was important. “To get you to join with him? What did he offer?”

“Nothing,” Anders responded, “He wasn't in our world voluntarily. The Warden Commander...we had been out on a mission looking for a missing warden. It led us to a marsh, some talking darkspawn, and a demon. We ended up in the Fade, confronting the demon to get out. While there, we met Justice. At the time he was fighting the demon – fighting the injustice being caused. When the demon cast us from the Fade, the spell pushed Justice out as well. He ended up in the corpse of our missing warden and joined us to fight the darkspawn.”

Fenris' mouth was agape, eyes wide. “Talking darkspawn?”

“Let's not go into details about them. It was...” Anders let out a pained laugh. “Anyway, Justice had been walking around in a moldering corpse for a while. It was falling apart. It was just a matter of time before he would be homeless, so to speak. We had been discussing what would happen if he shared space with a willing host, somebody alive. All I wanted was for my friend to stay alive. And he wanted to help. So we joined...”

“There were no promises made? No tempting offers of power?” Disbelief colored every word.

“No. He was...is...my friend. He's not a demon, Fenris.” Amber eyes were steady on the elf. “I may have twisted him once we joined, but he was pure before.”

It was a lot of information to process, to comb through and think about. Fenris had always assumed there had been some sharing of power, some promise made to the mage to make him join with a spirit. But Anders spoke of Justice as if he was a friend, somebody he had been trying to save. An important distinction.

And something to process later. When he didn't have his mage spread out before him like a feast. It was so much easier to focus on the now, so much easier to press forward with his desires and needs than to think about what Anders had just told him.

“I want show you something,” The words were very nearly growled, “And you are free to say no. To say stop.”

The change in tone made Anders shift, “I hesitate to say ok, but...ok. Go on.”

“Danarius' training was very thorough. I learned a multitude of skills: how to fight, how to play instruments, how to pour wine...how to pleasure,” Fenris' fingers had drifted up one long, pale leg, and were lingering at the crease of thigh and groin. The sharp inhale of breath made the elf's ears twitch. Fenris met Anders' eyes as he activated his brands and sank the tips of his fingers into the crease of skin. The inhale turned into a gasp as hips arched up into the touch.

“You're...touching...” Anders gibbered.

“Say no and I will stop.” Fingers sank deeper and slid over a nerve. Pleasure shot from groin to ankle, the mage twisting his hips. “Say yes and I will continue.”

The yes was a keening wail, the only understandable word from the mage's mouth. Hands reached for the elf and Fenris shook his head. “No touching. You will keep your hands behind your head, Anders.” That elicited a string of curses ending in a long moan. Fenris took that to mean continue and sank his fingers fully into the mage.

Anders pressed his head tightly against his hands, fighting the urge to curl up against the waves of pleasure spreading from the fingers moving first down the crease and then back up. Fingers that found a nerve that made toes curl and skin pebble and plucked at it till it was too much, the pleasure too tight and shivery. His first orgasm pulled a loud “Oh” from his mouth, his hips leaving the blanket, cum splattering along the corset.

“Beautiful,” murmured Fenris. “Spread your thighs for me.”

Maker, the elf wasn't done with him. Anders gave a shaky laugh and acquiesced, opening his legs and pressing knees to the floor. It left him splayed and vulnerable. A quiver of fear shot through him, caused him to tense. The soothing stroke of fingers against skin made his eyes open.

“Shh. Do we need to stop?” Fenris had pulled his hand away, had subdued his brands.

“I...no. No. I'm fine. Just the memories.” Words were hard to form, thoughts jumbled between the haze of orgasm and the fear of the past.

Long fingers teased over the curve of one thigh to stroke at the sensitive spot just behind the mage's testicles. “You are sure?”

“I...Maker, don't stop.” Anders was growing hard again, pleasure radiating from the light touches. “How long can you do this?”

“All night if need be,” was the amused response. “The question is, how long can you continue?”

“Ahh...” breath stuttered out as brands were re-lit and fingers sank back into sensitive skin. “At this pace? I...Maker...Maker...”

The laugh was rough, growly. “Let's find out.”

***

  
“Four,” the word was exhaled into the mage's ear. “Four times.”

Anders gave a breathless laugh and wrapped his legs tighter around Fenris' waist. Through careful application of fade touch, Fenris had pushed Anders over the edge four times. The fifth was being done more traditionally, the elf's body gliding over his in a steady rhythm.

“Will there be a fifth?” The teasing question was followed by a sharp nip to Anders' ear.

Words were hard to gather together, his mind too muffled by continuous pleasure. Instead he nodded and whimpered, the sounds very nearly a name. Fenris laughed and thrust harder, growling against Anders' neck. Pleasure coiled tightly once more, pooled into the mage's lower back.

“I want to hear you. Four times and you have been so quiet. Let me hear you, Anders,” Fenris leaned back and wrapped a warm hand around the mage's cock. The first touch of skin against his arousal this evening, it was enough to make Anders' keen loudly and buck. He shook his head and bit down on his lip. “Let go for me.”

Anders strained, panted, and then let out a short yell. Fenris' purr of approval pushed the mage over fully, the elf's name tumbling from his lips in a chant as he came. Eyes nearly rolling back in his head, Anders shuddered as Fenris thrust harder, growling louder as his own pleasure caused his tattoos to flicker.

Groaning, Fenris collapsed onto the cum-soaked silk and lay there a moment, unsure if he could feel his limbs.

“M'dead. Killed me.” Anders mumbled. “Can't feel my fingers.”

Fenris snorted and propped himself up. “Five, not counting the time before dinner. So six.”

“Sweet Maker, I haven't felt this satisfied since Nate and I drank an entire barrel of ale in the basement and decided to see just how far warden stamina would take us.” Awe and satisfaction filled Anders' face. “That's...what you can do that's...”

“Danarius used me to intimidate, to entice...an evening with my special talents was enough to win him any favors. Or back any threat.” The words were bitter, disgusted. Green eyes caught amber and slowly softened. “Using those talents on you is different. It's a choice, my choice. I wanted to watch you come apart under me.”

“That's...that's...” Anders fumbled. “Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you. This was better than any of the dreams I had had. Watching you was amazing. I just wish we hadn't ruined the corset.” Fenris frowned and rubbed a thumb over the silk.

“I bet Orana can salvage it. Or knows somebody who can clean it,” Anders soothed. I'll ask her tomorrow.

Fenris sat up, straddling Anders' hips and began to slowly untie and loosen the lacings, “If I was to purchase more...”

“I would wear them,” Anders finished. “Any, ah, jewelry as well. I can't exactly say I haven't done so in the past for a lover.”

“I may have to get you nipples rings to match the collar,” Fenris murmured, more to himself. “But I'll worry over that later. Do you have the energy for a bath? Or shall I put you to bed?”

The snort was filled with amusement, “A bath would help relax my back. And soothe all the soreness I'm bound to have. Will you bathe with me or will I be bathing alone?”

Fenris stood and offered Anders' a hand, “I believe I have made my intentions clear, mage. I do not plan on taking up with another lover, nor do I wish to. I do not think you will be doing many things alone from now on.”

The words bounced around inside Anders' brain, warming him from the inside out. Justice lifted a metaphorical finger and offered that he was perfectly alright with this arrangement assuming the elf could be persuaded to put fade-fingers back inside of them and then grew silent again, contentment radiating from that small portion of Anders' mind. It was as close to a blessing as Anders was likely to get from his spirit, a ringing endorsement. He watched Fenris stretch and then head to the bedroom door. No longer alone...

Anders' heart sang.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bridge Chapter Ahead!
> 
> Moving past Corset Smut 
> 
> Isabela creates havoc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously - read this and then say good by to the happies. Angst chapters ahead.

It seemed like the days melted together: a melding of old and new routines. Gradually, Anders started splitting his time between Fenris’ mansion and his own clinic. Fenris began noticing a growing pile of books near the fireplace and mage clothing mixed in with his. Anders noticed a stockpile of armor polish and cleaning clothes in with his potions and bandages.

They still took separate tents out for jobs, not willing to share their private life with the group. But they showed up to wicked grace together, and went home together. Anders cooked dinner when he spent the night. Fenris slowly started opening up about what it was like to be a slave, and Anders shared stories from his time in the Circle.

It was tentative, this budding relationship. Arguments were quick to start and just as quick to end. Words that, before, would have resulted in a nearly-violent encounter now spurred conversation. Slowly, both men began to see a commonality between them that hadn’t existed before. And as they found common ground, the threads of lust and affection began to weave into something tighter.

It had been three weeks since the night with the corset. In that time, Fenris had brought home another one – this one in a pale green silk with cream embroidery. Anders had worn it, much to the elf’s delight, without being asked. In fact, Fenris had been fairly certain the mage had worn it under his robes when he went back to his clinic the next day.

A thought that had had him going down to the clinic mid-day to ravish his mage senseless.

The arrival of a letter addressed to Fenris, delivered by Varric on the next wicked grace night, heralded a change in the winds. Three weeks of peace were about to end.

***

“I shall save this to read for when I am home,” Fenris said, sliding the envelope into a pouch. The group watched him, curiosity reflected on each face. He glanced at Anders, waiting to see if he would be pushed to read something so private here. Anders simply shook his head and went back to looking at his cards. That simple acquiescence to his wishes made him relax. “And shall tell you about it tomorrow evening, if you all wish.”

“A second wicked grace night,” Isabela suggested. “Mm…we could do strip wicked grace…”

“The last time I played that I ended up down to my smalls,” Anders muttered, flushing when Fenris slid a hand over his knee and squeezed. “Well I did.”

“We will not be playing strip wicked grace.” Fenris responded, squeezing Anders’ knee again. The thought of the group seeing any of Anders' freckled skin made him growl.

“Aww, but I want to see his smalls. Rumor has it you bought him new ones,” Isabela waggled her eyebrows. “Fancy ones.”

Anders moved his mug of cider out of the way and let his head thump to the table. If he kept his face pressed against the wood, he wouldn’t say anything he would regret later. Next to him, Fenris shifted and tensed – always a bad sign.

“I believe that is none of your business.” The words were bitten off in precise syllables, as if teeth were being clenched.

There were some whispers from across the table followed by the sound of Hawke clearing her throat. Silence grew tense as the entire group seemed to inhale.

“Izzy?” Merrill’s voice was like the patter of raindrops that preceded a thunderstorm, “Is this because you saw Fenris in the corset shop?”

If Merrill’s voice signified tiny little rain drops, Fenris’ next growl was the thunder. Anders reached out blindly and grabbed for an arm, hoping to keep the physical violence to a minimum.

“Mm, Kitten yes. That’s my favorite shop. And you know? The proprietor and I talked and it turns out our glowy friend here has been purchasing…items…so either he has a woman hidden away or he and Anders are having more fun than I had imagined,” Isabela’s voice rained hail stones of embarrassment all over the elf and mage. Fenris’ flashing tattoos and louder growling were really finishing the storm analogy for Anders.

He had to deflect the situation before there was wholesale murder.

“So…wicked grace tomorrow night and we’ll learn about that letter and we should go. Yes.” Jumping from the seat, Anders tugged on Fenris’ arm.

“We are going nowhere, mage. I will not be forced home so soon because the pirate has some prurient fantasies. Sit. Down.” Fenris twisted his arm out of Anders’ grasp, stood, gripped the back of the mage’s neck, and shoved him back onto his seat. Anders decided his face on the table might be the best possible outcome after all and returned to smashing his cheek against the wood.

“Now Fenris, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Are they for you? Mmm…I bet you look lovely in a corset,” Isabela was continuing her torture, either oblivious to the danger or secure in the knowledge that Hawke would stop any murdering. “All those lyrium lines would be luscious in silk. Does Anders tie you up and then lick you?”

“Andraste’s flaming knickers, shut up!” whined Anders.

Fenris, apparently having had enough, slammed his hands onto the table. Silence reigned again. Clearing his throat, he leveled a glare at Isabela, “I shall only repeat myself once. It is none of your business.”

Isabela opened her mouth to ask another inappropriate question and found herself on Hawke’s lap. “Not now, Izzy love. Fenris has been pushed enough.”

“Spoilsport,” Isabela muttered. “I could have gotten one more good one in.”

“Anders looks like he’s trying to meld with the table. Let’s just leave them be for now.” Hawke gave Isabela a pleading look. The pirate huffed softly and then gave in, snuggling against her lover as if this had been the ultimate goal of the entire evening.

The group, as one, relaxed.

“But Fenris? Are you buying Anders corsets and such? I think it’s sweet. Everybody likes pretty gifts,” Merrill pipped up a few heartbeats later.

Anders peeked over at his lover and saw with some surprise that Fenris had retaken his seat and was rubbing his face. Whether it was at the thought of pretty gifts for Anders or the way Merrill managed to look so innocent was hard to figure. Anders lifted his head and tried for a wide grin, “Everybody does like pretty gifts,” he agreed.

“I know I do,” Merrill continued, ignoring Fenris’ reaction. “I really like flowers and those dainty stockings I see at the corset shop. And hats! Oh, Isabela and I saw the prettiest hats the other day.”

Fenris had decided his mage had had the right idea and had tilted forward till he could press his face to the table, shoulders shaking from either holding in violence or amusement. Anders bit his lip and figured in for a copper, in for a sovereign. “I rather like flowers too, Merrill. I really like new feathers for my coat and warm socks.”

Merrill pondered that statement. Her eyes rolled up to contemplated the ceiling and then she gave Anders a smile, “Even if you are wearing corsets and stockings, it doesn’t matter because Fenris bought them. I just want to know what color. You would look so handsome in a green. Or blue!”

“Maybe you should go shopping with Fenris,” murmured Varric, shuffling the cards and trying to not make any eye-contact.

“You will not write about this,” Fenris muttered, his face still pressed to the table. “Or I shall be visiting you later. Alone.”

“Not a word shall be penned, Fenris. Now, shall we continue playing cards or does anybody else want to know what’s going on under Blondie’s robes?” Varric’s voice was mild. He caught Merrill’s eye and shook his head when the little elf opened her mouth. She gave the dwarf a teasing grin and settled back.

Sometimes, Anders thought, Merrill was cagier than they all gave her credit.

“You should read that letter, Broody. The courier came from Tantervale. My guess is it's from your sister and she'll be here within two weeks.” Varric kept his eyes on his cards.

“I shall....” Fenris shifted and glanced at Anders who just nodded and smiled, “I shall read it at home and tell you tomorrow.”

“Well then. Let's play cards and drop the whole deal till tomorrow,” Hawke interjected before anybody else could annoy the elf. “What's one night when she probably won't be here for another week at least?”

***

  
At least a week. The words ran through Fenris' mind the rest of the evening. He was so distracted that he lost more than hewon, finally declaring himself done when it became apparent he couldn't concentrate. At least a week. Two at the most. And then...then he would get to meet his sister.

The entire idea was...terrifying.

The walk back to the mansion was quiet, Anders simply grabbing his hand and squeezing it. Fenris could tell he wanted to talk, wanted to babble to fill in the silence, but didn't – much to the elf's relief. Instead, he fidgeted with his robe and squeezed Fenris' hand rhythmically. The silence, Fenris knew, ate at his mage. But he wasn't ready to speak yet. Wasn't sure if he could.

It wasn't until they had reached the bedroom, doors closed behind them and locked, and lamps lit, that Fenris finally said anything.

“I...do not know how to ask this,” he admitted haltingly, dropping heavily into his chair by the fireplace.

Anders sat on the floor next to the chair and rested his head on the elf's knee. Rolling his eyes up to meet green ones, the mage offered a slight smile, “You need help reading it?”

“Yes. My lessons have been sporadic at best. If you do not mind, of course.” Fenris pulled the creased envelope from his pouch and held it out.

“Are you sure? This is private. I wouldn't want to intrude,” Anders hesitated.

Shaking his head, Fenris shook the envelope, “I trust you, Anders.”

The words floated through the room, making Anders swallow. It was the closest to a declaration as Fenris had gotten since three weeks ago, and it made the mage warm and melt. Nuzzling his cheek against the elf's knee, Anders took the envelope and slowly opened it.

“Brother. I was surprised to receive news that you were in Kirkwall and no longer in the Imperium with Danarius. I am most anxious to see you again, and hear about your escape. It has been an age since I have last seen you. This letter should reach you before I reach Kirkwall, having stopped for a night in Tantervale for a rest. The caravan leader has said it would take ten days to reach Kirkwall. If this letter gets to you when the courier says, I should be arriving within the week and will stay at the Hanged Man as has been suggested. I shall contact you when I am in town. Your sister, Varania.”

Anders touched the letter and handed it back to Fenris. “She'll be here next week sometime.”

“I...will you? I cannot...” Fenris fumbled, fear and excitement filling him.

“I will be there with you Fenris. I swear I will be.” Anders turned and pushed up to his knees.

Reminded of his dream, Fenris reached out to brush back Anders' hair. He felt like he should say something, should express his affection for the mage, but couldn't seem to push the words past his lips. Instead, he continued to pet at the blond hair.

“Shall I...ease you?” Anders eyes were wide and filled with heat and tenderness, a half smile curling up his lips. It was obvious in the tilt of his head and the flush on his cheeks that Anders knew the words mimicked the dream.

“Yes,” Fenris said, voice hoarse.

A hum of appreciation and then those long fingers were plucking at the ties to leggings, working the fabric open to pull out his slowly hardening length. A teasing lick across the broad head, a shuffle closer to settle, and then a warm, wet mouth; blond hair clenched in lyrium-lined hands; and pleasure enough to quiet the doubts and worries stirring in the back of Fenris' mind.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end...
> 
> Varania...Danarius...
> 
> Angst...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to be posting as I edit. I should have the rest of the chapters up today.
> 
> I wouldn't leave you all stuck with THAT chapter ender!

Four days passed in that slow-crawl madness that happens when something momentous is about to happen. There seemed to be both too much time and not enough – too much to wait, not enough to prepare. Fenris went from pacing his rooms, to pacing the mansion, to finally sitting in Anders’ clinic and watching his mage heal – anything to calm his roiling emotions.

And if Anders couldn’t come to him at night, Fenris went to the clinic to sleep.

When the runner finally found him, sitting in Anders’ clinic and watching the mage brew potions, the relief that his sister had made it to Kirkwall was nearly overwhelming. Fenris crumpled the note from Varric in his fist and exhaled, bending forward to keep from hyperventilating.

“Fenris?” Anders’ boots came into view. “Are you alright?”

“She has arrived,” was the simple response. “I am, understandably, emotional.”

Anders crouched down and tried to peer up into his elf’s face, “Emotional like excited? Nervous? About to vomit? If it’s the vomit, tell me so I can get a bucket.”

“Fasta Vass, I shall not be ill. I…can you leave the clinic?” Fenris lifted his head and met his mage’s eyes.

“Mm, we should get Hawke. She will be hurt if you don’t bring her along. You know that,” Anders kept his voice gentle. “I will be right next to you.”

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Fenris worked to relax his muscles, “Yes. We will talk to Hawke and…and then…”

“What did the message say?” Anders carefully pried Fenris’ fingers open and took the paper, smoothing it out. He glanced up into bright green eyes and then read the short message. “She is at the Hanged Man, and we can see her any time today. Ok. Let me blow out the lantern and lock-up and we’ll go.”

“Just like that?” Fenris’ voice was hesitant.

“Just like that,” was the emphatic response.

***

  
Getting Hawke meant getting Isabela. Which meant getting Merrill, because the little elf had been over visiting the mansion. By the time they reached the Hanged Man, Fenris was white-knuckled and on the cusp of snapping. Anders walked at his side, a solid presence between him and the three chattering women.

Fenris' mouth was dry. But his hands were damp. He was hot and cold, shivery and stiff. Every step brought him closer to the Hanged Man and made his heart pound. He hadn’t felt this much fear and anticipation since the day he was able to run. It was the same feelings of exhilaration and terror. He wanted to get this over with. He wanted to flee. He wanted to go home and cling to Anders.

The door to the tavern loomed before Fenris and his hand reached out, grasped the handle, and pulled it open.

It was mid-day and the main room was only half-filled. Most of the crowd wouldn’t be in till after shift and the people there were mostly passed-out in their drinks. Fenris let his eyes scan over the tables, finally finding a solitary female elf in a back corner. The most he could make out was red hair, but still – his memory jostled.

Moving as if in a dream, Fenris made his way towards that hair. Eyes only for the woman at the table, he was only vaguely aware that his friends and lover were following him. Everything was focused on the red hair, on the face that had turned to him, on the eyes filling with recognition. He stepped up to the table and stopped, words failing him as memories blazed alive.

_A young girl, hair in pigtails, chasing after him in a broad courtyard, laughter ringing out as he yelled “catch me, catch me.”_

_An older woman with black hair in a bun, reaching down to wipe something from his face, green eyes filled with warmth._

_A girlish laugh followed by the name Leto. Leto…Leto…_

“Leto, it is you,” The woman was standing, her eyes taking Fenris in from toes to brow. “I had hoped…”

“Leto…that was my name…” His voice was filled with wonder, “And you are Varania…I remember. I remember chasing you in our master’s courtyard.”

“Leto…” Her voice was wrong, something was wrong. Fenris felt Anders tense next to him, felt the sudden skitter of magic over his skin, Anders casting a shield.

“Ahh…My little wolf. So predictable. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist seeing your sister. And she was so accommodating, so helpful.” That voice. Every nerve froze. Eyes swung around to the stairs and found Danarius, grey haired and attired in formal Tevinter robes, standing at the top of the stairs…

“Danarius,” Was that his voice? Quivering instead of strong? “Varania?”

“I am sorry, Leto. He offered me a position as his apprentice. I…I couldn’t refuse.” Varania backed away from him, pressing herself into a corner.

The sigh was long-suffering, “It is Master, my little wolf. How soon we forget our training.” Danarius moved further down the stairs, his hand sliding out in a gesture at Varania. “She has done what any good Imperial citizen would do. Help a magister recover his lost property. We will, of course, remedy this lapse in manners as soon as we are away from here.”

“I am never returning to you,” Fenris growled, trying not to panic. “I am not your slave any longer.”

Danarius pursed his lips, “I suppose this is your new master? The mage? Has he been the one fostering such disrespect in you?” Danarius’ eyes snapped at Anders who bared his teeth in a smile.

“I am no more Fenris’ master than he is my slave,” Anders voice was tight, the long lines of his body shaking from the effort of holding back Justice.

“Is that a note of jealousy I detect? The lad is quite skilled in all…manner…of things. Certainly you have had an opportunity to use his unique talents?” The magister’s voice oozed from him, oily and rank. “Sadly, you are correct. You are not his master. I am. And I am here to collect my property.”

“No!” Fenris yelled, his brands lighting. “I belong to nobody!”

The fight was vicious – shades and demons appeared, Tevinter body guards swarmed into the room. Fenris’ sword sang as it sliced through bone and flesh, sundering fade spirits and men alike. He had a brief glance of Anders across the room, skin cracked blue as Justice lent his abilities to the mage. Danarius seemed to be targeting Anders specifically, spell after spell flying to hit the mage’s barrier. But Anders’ held, returning each attack with one of his own.

Danarius’ tunnel vision was what, ultimately, cost him his life. Varric appeared in the doorway to his room, Bianca held at the ready. A bolt from the crossbow hit squarely in Danarius’ left shoulder, spinning him around and knocking him down the stairs. Landing practically at Fenris’ feet, Danarius found himself lifted from the ground by the very elf he had come to claim.

“Now Fenris…”He started, hands clawing at the tight grip on his neck. “You don’t want to hurt your master…”

“Hurt you?” The words were spit in the magister’s face. “No. I do not wish to hurt you, Danarius. I wish to kill you. To wipe your very existence from Thedas.” Dropping his sword, Fenris activated his brands and plunged a fist into his master’s chest, pulling out the still-beating heart and crushing it in a single squeeze.

Flinging away the limp body, Fenris found his sister cowering in a corner and strode to her, brands shining brighter. “You,” his voice whipped out to lash at Varania. “You led him here. To become his APRENTICE?”

“Yes…please…you must let me explain,” Varania pressed herself back against the wall. “Please, Leto.”

“Stop calling me that!” Fenris roared. “That is no longer who I am.”

“Fenris,” Anders hand landed on his shoulder and he tensed. “Let her talk. You need to know, and her death will solve nothing.”

Teeth gritted, Fenris turned stormy eyes on the cowering woman, “Speak.”

“Those marks…those marks were your prize. You entered and won a tournament, you gave yourself to Danarius. Don’t you remember? You did it to free Mother and I. Winning the tournament bound you to Danarius and gave you a boon…a boon you used to turn us Liberati.” Varania stepped away from the wall, gaining a measure of courage now that it appeared she wouldn’t be killed.

“You lie,” Fenris hissed.

“You think I would dare? It was no gift, Leto. Mother died a pauper. I have been barely scraping by. Your gift was worth nothing, less than nothing. You got the better end of the deal. Yes, Danarius promised to make me one of his apprentices if I helped him recover you. It was worth it. You would be back where you belonged, and I would be taken care of.” Her voice was venomous and ate into Fenris’ mind.

“Get out of my sight. Should I ever see you again, your life is forfeit.” Fenris bit out the words.

Varania stiffened and then turned, leaving quickly. He couldn’t watch her go, too busy watching all of his hopes turn to ash and blow away.

A mage. His sister was a mage and had sold him out. His rage built, gathering force. Always mages, it whispered to him. _Always there to tear you down, to shackle you. Even this one. He holds you with his body, enslaves you with your lust._ Anders was desperately rubbing at his arm, amber eyes wide, and all Fenris could see was that another mage was touching him.

“Leave me be, mage,” Fenris’ voice slapped at Anders.

“Fenris…please. I’m so sorry.” The mage’s voice was quiet, sorrowful. “Let me help.”

“Help? You have done more than enough, mage.” Fenris backed away, eyes darting around the room. “Always a mage. Always. Deceitful, conniving, manipulative…even now, magic taints my life.”

“You don’t mean that,” Anders voice was brittle, pained. “Not after…not after everything…”

Green eyes met his and hardened, “Every word. I wish none of this had happened. None of it. It was a mistake from the beginning. You were a mistake.”

Anders dropped his hand, reeling back as if struck. Fenris moved swiftly past him, stopping only long enough to retrieve his sword. Hesitating a moment, he glanced back at Anders…fear and longing etched on his face. And then the rage roared back through him and he turned and left.

The sound of the Hanged Man’s door slamming closed was echoed in the one pained gasp torn from Anders as he crumpled.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unhappiness is just...everywhere. ::waves hands at chapter::
> 
> Fenris is being an ass.
> 
> Isabela has had enough.
> 
> Anders is pretty much trying to kill himself via Justice...
> 
> It's just all unhappy...

Days passed. Fenris picked himself back up, propped up by bottles of wine and the heft of his sword arm. He took jobs with Hawke, he took jobs with Aveline, sometimes he even hired himself out to local merchants…he went to wicked grace nights and saw his friends...he should be ecstatic with life. After all, he was a free man. But something nudged at him, the loss of amber eyes watching him, the feel of smooth skin under his hands, the companionship by the fire…

That first week after Danarius’ death found Fenris treated with kid gloves. His friends were sympathetic. They tiptoed around the issue of Anders, content to not push so much as gently nudge. Nudges he ignored in favor of drinking more. As time passed and it became apparent that he had no plans to visit Darktown, the group grew restless. Sporadically, barbed remarks were let loose – always as an aside, always directed at him, and always about the hypocritical way he still associated with Hawke but not Anders.

He brushed them off, ignoring the growing discontent among his friends. Ignoring the whispers that something was wrong with Anders. If the mage wished to hide in the sewers and sulk, well, that was his choice. Fenris refused to feel guilty over hurting a mage’s feelings – conveniently ignoring the gnawing guilt that sat low in his belly. He had won his freedom, his rage whispered to him, and no mage would ever shackle him again.

It had been a month since Danarius. And in that time, he hadn’t seen or heard from Anders. The mage hadn’t shown up to any wicked grace nights, hadn’t been with Hawke on any jobs. His friends didn’t speak of him unless they were prodding at Fenris. Fenris was relieved that he didn’t have to look the mage in the eye – relieved, unconcerned…worried…

They may have continued like this – had it not been for a job on the Wounded Coast. Hawke had been pulled out to the craggy hills to look for a missing mage. A runner, was what she had been told. Hawke had taken the job on the off-chance that his wasn’t an escaped maleficar and she could help the poor girl. They had found the mage and she had turned abomination.

Fenris had taken great delight in killing her. Perhaps too much delight, judging by the greenish tint to Hawke’s face. He had opened his mouth to apologize and found himself subjected to a cold shoulder, Hawke having turned and marched down the path to stare out at the water.

“Perhaps you should give her a moment there, Broody,” Isabela suggested as she rifled through the dead apostate’s pockets. “Takes her a bit of time to come to terms with watching you slaughter mages.”

“Excuse me?” Fenris was flabbergasted at the hints of aggression in Isabela’s normally teasing voice.

“Oh Broody, there’s no excuse for you,” Isabela said, straightening. “She won’t say a word to your face, but I don’t give two shits about hurting your feelings.”

Fenris opened his mouth and shut it with an audible click as the rogue crowded into his personal space, “How do you think she feels? Hmm? Knowing what she does about your views on mages? Knowing how you treat Anders, a man you were sleeping with. She wonders when you’ll turn on her. Will you wait for the middle of a fight or treat her like you did Anders, just tear out her heart?”

“Hawke asks me to help,” Fenris protested. “She knows I value her friendship.”

“Oh? Do you? She asks you on jobs because she keeps hoping you’ll see reason and go see Anders. She loves you, Fenris. Really loves you. Thinks of you as family. But you fucked up when you decided to turn all hate for your former master on Anders.” Isabela pushed closer, not caring that Fenris was starting to glower.

“Leave the abomination out of it,” Fenris spat.

“So we’re back to that, then? Have you even gone to see him in the last month? Have you? Do you know he won’t leave his clinic? He’s been there for a month, Fenris. A fucking month. I saw him the other day and barely recognized him.” Isabela shoved, hard, and Fenris fell back. “You’re killing him and you don’t even care.”

“His demon won’t let him die,” Fenris grabbed at a boulder, tamping down on his rage. “You exaggerate.”

“She doesn’t,” Hawke still hadn’t turned around, but addressed him all the same. “He’s going to kill himself. He barely eats, doesn’t sleep…” her voice cracked. “You broke him.”

“I did not,” Fenris refused to believe it. Refused to acknowledge what either woman was saying. “He was using me…”

“Using you?” Hawke spun around at that, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Using you? Because he was a mage? Fenris! You chased him. You pushed him. You. I…I always worried this would happen, but he told me it was ok. Told me he wanted to be with you, that you were a changed man. And I believed him.”

“Hawke…” He watched in horror as tears filled her eyes.

“You can’t blame Danarius for your problems with mages. Not anymore. You killed him. I watched you kill him. I watched Anders help you kill him. You're a free man now, Fenris.” Hawke clenched her hands into fists and closed her eyes. “You can’t keep living like a runaway slave when you are free. And you can’t keep blaming Anders for the actions of your sister. For the actions of a country he's not even from!”

He watched as Isabela went to her and wrapped her in strong arms, “Come on, sweet thing. Let me take you home. Fenris, either you sort this out or pack and leave. I won’t have you hurting her or Anders anymore.”

It was with some shock that he realized Hawke wasn’t going to tell Isabela to shut up, wasn’t going to stand up for him. He stood there as Isabela and Hawke walked away and wondered if what they had said was true.

***

The bottle of wine smashed against the wall, red slipping down the already stained wallpaper to puddle. It was the third bottle Fenris had lobbed across the room as he fought with himself. This was all some twisted mage plot, something Anders put Hawke up to. It had to be. There was no way the mage was sitting in that sewer and pining for him. He was an abomination, the example of why magic should be suppressed, eradicated…Fenris’ inhaled, feeling the rage swell. It took a great deal of effort to push it down, to shove the rage at his sister aside. Memories sprang up to replace it…

Memories of listening to Anders telling stories from the Circle, stories of torture and beatings, a year in solitary, the paranoia and fear. He could still see every scar on the mage’s back, hear his choked sobs as he slept – reliving his time locked in a dark dungeon, when he had left alone to rot in the dark.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Fenris stood and started pacing.

His steps led him to the wardrobe. Opening the door, his eyes fell to the gold corset. He could still see Anders writhing on the blanket, back arched, lips parted in a quiet moan of surrender as Fenris dipped fingers into the mage’s body. Such trust, to lie there and allow Fenris to reach inside of him, to allow the elf such power.

He needed to think. He needed to close his eyes and just let his mind relax. Fenris fell on the bed, curled into a ball, and willed himself to sleep. Willed himself to forget honey eyes and tilted smiles, blond hair spread on his pillows, pale skin under his hands.

The dream was nearly instantaneous. Anders on his knees, back covered in blood, collar tight around his neck and chained to the wall. A lyrium-lined hand held a flogger, knotted leather tips stained with blood. Harsh breathing echoed in the room– someplace dark and dank, cold...windowless.

Anders turned his head, glazed eyes meeting his, and shuddered, “You're free. You should leave me here.”

“You're free too. A mage is never caged,” his voice was rough, harsh. “You wield this, not me.”

The mage's head dipped down, blond hair sliding to cover tear-stained cheeks, “I'll never be free. I'll always be collared. The only thing waiting for me is either death or tranquility.”

Fenris gazed down at the flogger, at the lyrium-lined hand holding it, and dropped the blood-soaked leather.

Gasping, he sat up, sweat beading on his brow. The collar, the flogger...Anders' words...Fenris swallowed as fear gripped him. And then he rolled off the bed and grabbed his sword. He needed to get to Darktown. He needed to find Anders.

  
***

  
For Anders, the last month had been spent just putting one foot in front of the other. It had been a month of scrapping at the bottom of his mana reservoir to save a child’s life, giving away nearly every last coin to the residents of Darktown, nights spent scribbling down his views on mage rights, and fights with Hawke.

He was tired, he was always tired, but he couldn’t sleep. Not without seeing Fenris’ face that last time.

He had almost left. Almost. He had packed up his meager belongings – the small remnants from the Wardens and his mother's pillow and had set out for...nowhere. He realized there was nowhere for him to really go. He'd have to start over, have to find a new place to make connections. The thought of running again – of fleeing yet again when the going got hard made Justice rear up. After some internal arguments and self-reflection he unpacked and began to deal with the broken heart.

For the first time in his life, Anders worked through the grief that came with loss – going from disbelief to rage to numbness to a sort of quasi-acceptance. Justice sat at the back of his mind and pushed him to look past the personal pain to the grander goals they had made. And if he gave in and allowed the spirit to take over when the pain became too much, well, it helped.

Hawke came by periodically, dragging baskets of food and well-meaning platitudes. Always, she came down and stayed long enough to make sure Anders ate, passing on news of their friends while trying to coax him into joining her for dinner or a drink or wicked grace. Always, Anders ate the barest minimum he could manage, listened to her talk, and declined her offers.

The other would come down as well – Varric bringing jokes, Isabela with well-meaning words, Merrill to just sit with him, Aveline to make sure the templars hadn’t dragged him off. They would come down, their mouths smiling while their eyes grew steadily more worried. He let them, unsure why they were there. Their presence just irritated Justice and reminded him of a lyrium-lined elf who had broken his heart.

Justice was loathed to let him have free time, and Anders had decided listening to his spirit might just be the best way to avoid broken hearts in the future.“I know,” he murmured to himself as he scribbled another nearly illegible line across the parchment in front of him. “We’ll be heard. We aren’t important, only the cause. Only justice…”

His sight blurred, tears dripping down his face unnoticed, and he shook his head, hand never stopping its scrawl. In the back of his mind, in the tiny part that wasn’t subsumed under the weight of his spirit passenger, Anders let out a sob and curled in on himself. His hand shook and the sob worked its way out of his throat. Maker, not now…just keep writing, keep focused on Justice…

He was so wrapped up in his goals, in his misery and obsessive need to work on his manifesto, that he didn’t hear the door to his clinic open. He didn’t hear the shush of bare feet against the floor.

But the shocked inhale and breathless “Anders,” made his head come up and twist, mouth falling open as his eyes landed on the very reason for his internal struggle.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris goes to see Anders - finally...
> 
> End chapter...but not the end of their story...

Isabela hadn't been lying. Hawke hadn't been lying. Anders was gaunt: face sharp with sunken, dull eyes, lank hair, and sallow, waxy skin. Fenris closed his eyes at the sight of the mage's hands, nails bitten to the quick and shaking as if palsied.

“Anders...” Fenris choked on the name. He had done this, his mind reminded him. He had been the one to turn his back, not the mage. He had been the one to lash out, to injure, to give up. Not Anders. It had been his rage that had pushed the mage into this state – his. His rage that had had him turning his back on a man he had been falling in love with.

“Fenris,” Anders turned, his hands clenching together. Glancing around the empty clinic, he wrapped thin arms around himself. “What...what are you doing here? Need healing? Potions?” His eyes turned to a nearby shelf. “Keep it together,” Anders muttered under his breath. “He's not here for you.” The soft words whispered in the emptiness and made Fenris' heart clench.

“I do not require healing, no.” Fenris took a step forward. “I...I am here for you.” Another step.

“Me?” Anders let out a slightly hysterical laugh and rocked. “No. No you aren't. You're here because Hawke badgered you. Because...because you were forced.”

“No,” Fenris shook his head, taking another step. He was nearly within touching distance. “What happened?”

“Nothing?” The mage sounded perplexed. “Why?”

“You are wasting away,” Fenris moved within touching distance and stopped. “You have lost weight. Are you not eating? Not sleeping?”

“My needs aren't important...only Justice...” Anders rocked a little harder, the knot of pain in his chest squeezing tight, making itself known over the push of his spirit. “I just let him take over more now. It's for the best.”

“For the best?” Fenris watched Anders jitter and shake. He was deeply afraid that he had wallowed in his rage for too long. That Anders was beyond him now. Honey-brown eyes turned to meet his green and he saw sorrow and pain there.

“If he is in control, I won't run. I'll stay and finish what I started,” Anders sighed, his entire body drooping like a marionette that had had its strings cut.

“Anders,” Fenris licked his lips and took the final steps forward, placing himself into Anders' personal space. “I was wrong.”

“You were...no. No.” Anders shook his head.

“Yes,” he reached out, afraid Anders would pull away, surprised when he didn't. “My words, my actions – they were spoken in rage, in fear. I lashed out, and I did it deliberately. I see that now. I wanted somebody to blame, somebody to carry my hate. You were…you were the convenient target.”

Anders was still shaking his head, but leaning against Fenris’ hand. “No. I forgive....”

“Anders. I am sorry.” Fenris pulled the mage tightly against him and held on, feeling the scalding of tears against his neck, felt the drip of them down his face. “I was wrong. I cannot promise to always see eye to eye with you about mages, but I was wrong to force what I felt for my sister onto you. You are not Danarius, nor are you her.”

Anders pressed his face tightly against Fenris' neck and inhaled, trying to find his footing. He had come back, the prickly elf who distrusted magic, had a near-hatred of touch, who growled and grumbled and complained – who touched gently, called him “his mage,” made sure he ate and slept...he had come back. And he wasn't sure how to feel except tired.

“Come. You will return to the mansion with me. You will bathe and eat and then we will sleep.” Fenris fussed slightly over his mage, the words effortlessly coming to him. Had Anders ever really stopped being his? Had he blindly thought he could push away these emotions? Was that the basis for the rage? This strong bond he had built with a mage – this mage – this possessed mage who blathered about mage rights and kittens? Perhaps.

Perhaps it was best to not over think things for once.

***

  
He took Anders home with him, helping the mage climb the stairs to the second floor. He suppressed a small smile at the murmured hellos Anders gave to the mummified remains. Even exhausted and malnourished, his mage still had a sense of humor.

He helped Anders up the stairs and into the bathing room, seating his mage on a low stool while he fussed with the water. Using the heating rune recently purchased, he filled the bath and then undressed his mage and despaired at how much weight Anders had lost.

Skeletal. That was the only description that best fit Anders. He was skeletal.

Anders ignored Fenris' gasp and clambered into the tub, letting out a soft sigh as he settled into the hot water. Turning wide eyes on the elf, he tilted his head and tried for a half-smile, “Are you going to join me?”

“I...” Fenris cleared his throat, “I believe I once said you would not be alone anymore. I meant it.” Stripping off his clothes, the elf tried to forget how he had broken that promise once. Instead, he climbed in, settling back and motioning to Anders, “Come here.”

“Oh...well...” Anders gave a shy laugh and wiggled till he was sitting with his back pressed flushed to Fenris' chest. At the feeling of arms enfolding him, Anders closed his eyes. “Fenris...”

“I am here,” Fenris pulled Anders closer and let out a quiet sigh.

“Will you do this to me again? Because if you can't...if you can't be with a mage, tell me now. I can't... I'd rather find out now and go back to my clinic and just...just let Justice take over.” Anders started shaking again.

Fenris tightened his hold, rubbing his hands up and down the mage's arms, “No. I will not do this again. I swear to you, I will not run again. Now hush, let me wash you so that we may eat. You are skin and bones. I did this to you and I will fix it.”

The laugh was choked, Anders' shoulder shaking with amusement. “I'm sorry I wasted away.”

“I am the one who should be apologizing. Blathering mage,” the words came out more tender than Fenris had anticipated, his ears heating. “You will stay with me for the next week, at least, and regain your strength.”

“Oh well...I can't...” Anders shook his head. “I really...Justice...”

“Will let you rest.” Fenris finished, picking up the soap. “Let me take care of you, Anders. Please. Let me show you that I am sorry, that I am serious.”

“Oh...oh alright,” Anders said on a sigh. “Alright.”

***

  
“I have to confess something.” They were in bed, clean from the bath and full from a simple dinner. “I dreamed of you.”

“Oh Maker, more dreams?” Anders let out a choked laugh. “What was I wearing? A dress?”

“You were chained and beaten. You told me you could never be free. That all that waited for you was death or tranquility,” the words were painful and softly spoken. Anders grew quiet at them. “It is what made me go see you.”

“Your dream wasn't wrong,” Anders' response was matter-of-fact. “I am always going to be hunted. I can never, truly, be free.”

“You stood with me against Danarius. You fought for my freedom.” Fenris hesitated, “I cannot promise to fight for mages everywhere. But for you, I would fight.”

Anders rolled over so he could look into Fenris' eyes. “I guess it's a start.”

The elf's smile was wry, “These dreams. They come to me when you are not here, sleeping next to me.”

“I suppose I will have to just sleep next to you, then,” Anders hesitated and then touched Fenris' cheek with tentative fingers. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, mage. Now come here so I may hold you. You do not sleep as well otherwise,” Fenris choked out the words.

“Fever dream,” Anders murmured sleepily. “The past month was just a bad fever dream.”

“Hush,” Fenris responded, pulling his mage in close. Fever dreams indeed, thought Fenris. Whatever had caused them, they had made him fall for this mage...this man. And he refused to return to a time without Anders next to him.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Penbrydd for inspiring me down this road
> 
> And Maverikloki who put me up to it in the first place.
> 
> Both of them deserve copious amounts of baked goods for putting up with me during the writing process....
> 
> And before I get asked - yes, I am about to start on a sequel.

_**Epilogue:** _

  
_Two months later:_

  
“Are you serious?” Anders let out a loud laugh, patting at the new outfit sitting on the counter. “This is ridiculously amazing.”

“Blathering, mage,” Fenris' lips twitched as he chastised Anders. “Put it on so we can make sure it fits.”

“Oh fine. Fine.” Anders gave the shop proprietor a wide grin and swept back to the changing booth.

“He's a handful,” The woman, Fran, said with a chuckle. “I can see why you chose the feathers. They do match his personality.”

“Ridiculous,” murmured Fenris with a half-smile. “Yes, they fit him perfectly.”

They were at the corset shop – a strange place to order mage wear until one actually talked to the shop owner. Fran had an uncanny knack for fashion and several siblings who were mages. The minute Fenris fumbled out his request she had known exactly what to do – much to Fenris' relief.

The hard part had been the measurements. Anders had been slowly gaining weight, but he was still too thin. Fran promised Fenris this wouldn't be a problem, but he worried that the entire outfit would be a failure.

Anders gave a loud laugh, the shop girl who helped with fittings giggling. Fenris' ears pinked as he realized that Anders would have had to strip down to his smalls to get into the entire getup and that morning he had pulled on his sheer smalls. Maker...

There was a rustle of fabric, some applause, and then the sound of Anders approaching. He came into view and Fenris' ears blazed crimson.

The robe was pitch black. The neckline flared in a distinctly Tevinter style that smoothed down into the close fitting, deep green corseted top before falling into the long sweep of skirting. Both sides of the skirt were slit for easier movement and every step showed black stockings. Feathers covered the short sleeves, the color a deep green to match the cinched bodice. Supple black leather boots reached knees and were laced tight. Around his mages neck was a delicately thin torque of gold.

Fenris felt a flash of full-body heat just looking at that torque.

“Well, that does fit fine. Messere Fenris had assured me he knew your measurements. Certainly, the other gifts he purchased you seemed to satisfy. But I believe him now.” Fran bustled over to pull at the laces and tug at the sleeves. “Mm...yes. Plenty of room for you to fill out. What do you think?”

“I think it's amazing. I think I'll wear it everywhere. I think I'll need another one.” Anders patted at the corseted top and laughed. “Fen? What do you think?”

“Mage,” Fenris let out a pleased growl, “It suits. We will take it and he shall wear it home.”

Fran waggled her eyebrows at Anders and went to get the bill, returning with a small bag that she shoved into the mage's hands. “Here. Extra stockings and two pairs of smalls to match. A gift from me. And don't say a word.”

Anders peeked into the bag, blushing when he saw the sheer smalls. “Andraste's tits, those are sinful.”

“Mm...new fabric. Direct from Orlais. Tell me how he likes them,” Fran patted Anders, accepted payment from Fenris, and then shooed them both out with a “go have fun.”

“Fenris,” Anders glanced over at the elf as they walked back to the mansion. “You ok?”

“Hush. I am trying to get you home before I do something I will regret. Like rip your new robes.” Fenris growled a low sound, tugging Anders after him.

Anders chuckled and squeezed the elf's hand, “Was this some dream you had last night because I couldn't make it back to the mansion?”

“We will not discuss it in public. But...I did pick up a bottle of honey wine today. I have plans for it.” Fenris glanced back, eyes taking in the cinched robe. “You will want to undress when we get home.”

“Better than letting you undress me,” Anders teased. They gained the door to the mansion, Fenris shoving him through the opening. The squeak of protest was cut off on a kiss. “Robes!” Anders said around a mouth full of elf.

“Upstairs,” Fenris groaned, releasing Anders.

And just like in his dream last night, Anders gave him a wink and took off running, skirts of his robe hiked up so that long legs encased in black silk and leather flashed. Fenris watched Anders gain the landing and then stalked off after his mage, a smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr under Warriormaggie


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